Leather and Lemons
by sweetrupturedlight
Summary: Tig Trager was a deeply unbalanced individual. He belonged to a MC that demanded his loyalty. He had done things to pledge that loyalty. Things that haunted him. But he was human. And even monsters deserve some comfort.
1. Nothing But An Empty Page

_A/N: Tig Trager is my favourite SONS character. I have this fantasy of him having some kind of happily ever after - mainly because I know this is never happening on the actual show. This story is my contribution. Morena is an OFC. _

_Enjoy_

* * *

><p>"Go to hell. You're a fucking miserable piece of shit, Tig!"<p>

The words were spat in his general direction as a woman hastily collected her clothes and headed for the front door. She was a pretty thing if she cleaned up some, but in her current state, she looked more like the shitty disposition she'd accused him of.

She paused at the door and threw a glance back, unable to mask the hope that he might change his mind and call her back. But he wasn't interested. The night was over. The sex had been great – he was sure – but then again, he didn't remember much of it.

When Nadya or Miriam (she had some exotic name he didn't remember either) realised he wasn't going to call her back, the door slammed, sending the windows in the little apartment rattling threateningly. He winced and breathed a sigh of relief. His head was pounding to the rhythm of the best rock anthem.

"Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. But a piece of shit I am darlin'," he drawled under his breath. There was no one to hear him. The story of his life.

Dragging himself into a sitting position, he surveyed his surroundings. He spent most of his time at the club. Well maybe _all_ of his time was a better description. But he kept this little apartment, nothing more than a one bed-roomed, open planned space because sometimes a man just needed to be in his own surroundings to think. And in the last couple years, he had needed a lot of time and space to think. And breathe. And sometimes late at night, even cry.

He had come here a lot after killing Donna. Just the thought of it and his gut clenched in reaction. It didn't matter what he was doing, he always remembered Donna. Even when he was drunk beyond words, incoherent and stumbling around with no purpose. Donna whispered to him. _Always_.

"Park that shit, Trager," he slurred. It was going to be a long day.

Moving slowly, trying not to jar his head too much, he stumbled nakedly into the tiny bathroom and stepped into the shower, turning on the spray and resting his head against the wall. He purposefully stood under the cold water, his body rigid until the water warmed and his muscles relaxed. This was where he experienced and battled the worst of his emotions. This is where his demons always caught him. Not at night, not while sleeping. But here, in this tiny stall, scalding water pounding ruthlessly down his body, with steam billowing and swirling in thick, hot masses, rivalling the thickest fog from the Scottish highlands.

It was here where he had cried for the first time in years, the tiny cubicle witnessing the sobs that had wracked his body - the night he'd realised he had killed a woman who had been nothing but kind to him. _Afraid of me sometimes_, he thought. But kind nonetheless. No one with a beating heart and some measure of a soul recovered from that. Even one as tutored in violence as he was.

He blindly groped for some soap and lathered his body, shampooed his hair and rinsed himself, more than once. He slept with many women, and often. But he always scrubbed their odour from his body after. He couldn't explain it. Some things were not meant for understanding. He didn't want their smell on him. So he lathered once more before turning off the spray reluctantly and stepping out.

The mirror that hung over the sink was small and chipped on the top corners. He didn't notice that as he wiped across the surface quickly, the heavy silver rings on his fingers scratching as his reflection became visible. Piercing blue eyes took stock.

He wasn't a handsome man. In fact, he looked weather beaten after too much time in the sun. Wrinkles lined his face, this way and that. His nose was slightly hooked and dozens of frown lines raced across his forehead like the steel tracks of a train. His dark hair curled wildly, too long and in desperate need of a trim. As did his goatee, dark against his skin despite his tanned complexion.

But what Tig didn't know was that put together, his face had character. It spoke of adventure and exciting journeys. It spoke of laughter around his eyes, and concentration in the furrow between his eyes. And it spoke of sadness in the creases around his mouth. His face had character. And to many women, that was wildly attractive.

Dropping his toothbrush back onto the little shelf above the sink, he winced as plastic made contact with glass. _Fuck_. This day really was going to be fucked up.

Naked as the day he was born, but feeling negligibly better after the scalding pummelling, the last thing he expected was his front door to open and his two-day-a-week domestic worker to breeze in, bringing in the smell of sunshine and lemons.

Morena always smelled like lemons. The thought hit him just as he wondered why the fuck he even remembered that.

Seeing motion in the corner of her eye, Tig watched her glance in his direction; draw an audible gasp before flushing pink and turning her back to him.

"Mr. Trager, I... I'm so sorry. You aren't normally here..."

Irritation rode his nerves and made his voice sharper than he intended. "Jesus. How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Mr. Trager?"

When he saw her back stiffen, remorse hovered, but he punched it back down. Lemons. _Why the fuck did he have to remember the lemons?_ Jesus. He was not fucking lusting after the hired help. He had to draw the line somewhere. And fucking innocent, wide-eyed med-students wasn't something he was interested in. Ever.

"Well maybe if you weren't standing around bloody naked I would be able to formulate a coherent thought!" she hissed. Her voice had tapered off and he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. He still had a hangover and his hearing wasn't at its best. _Fuck_. He really didn't want to be around this tempting morsel.

Tig rolled his eyes as irritation drove him hard. _Tempting morsel_? Christ. He was losing his mind.

"It's my damned place and I'm on my way out."

Silence was all his declaration got in return.

He took his time locating and then donning his clothing. He was in fact fully dressed but kept unzipping and then redoing his zipper. The way her shoulders would subtly tense amused him and made him forget. For just a little while.

But playtime was over. Grabbing his gun, Tig slipped it into the holster near his left arm and grabbed his leather wrist cuffs. He stopped behind her, too close to her he knew. He couldn't resist.

She was a lot shorter than he was, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. She peered over her shoulder and their gazes locked uneasily. Her eyes were large and dark, almost too large, and they were rimmed by the longest, darkest lashes. Tig thought he felt his head swim. He told himself it was the alcohol leaving his system.

"Money's in the usual place," was all he said before slipping on his sunglasses and heading out the door.

He was hell bent on escaping his apartment and the forbidden within. In haste, he didn't see her peer out after him, watching his retreating form until he was out of sight.


	2. Breathing In An Open Space

Morena Ramos scrubbed the shower viciously, putting her frustrations to good use. _The man was insufferable, not to mention dangerous and a little... insane_, she thought, attacking the tiles, revelling in the soothing sound of the bristles scraping across the tiled surface. But all the irritation in the world couldn't mask the fact that she found him wildly intriguing. The realisation upset her even more and sent the brush scouring even faster.

Morena was a native to Charming. Born and bred, she had lived there most of her life. She was also one of those people who dodged the spotlight and lived pretty much under the radar of anything exciting. It had taken her a very long time to decide what to do with her life. After odd jobs in Europe, au pairing to rich families, she finally returned home to pursue her studies. No longer in her twenties, she felt she had a good grip of where her life was headed.

When a friend of a friend mentioned in passing that hellish and whorish Tig Trager was looking for someone to clean his place a couple days a week, she jumped at the opportunity. Of course, she didn't tell the friend of a friend _or_ her friend that she had taken the job. They'd call her insane. But money was tight and the life of a student was always a tough one. She didn't necessarily have the luxury of choice. While she was not naive enough not to know about the reputation of the Sons of Anarchy, she _was_ surprised by its Sergeant at Arms. Besides the initial interview that lasted all of a minute, the only statement being 'twenty dollars a day, two days a week,' she hardly _ever_ saw him, heard from him or spoke to him. She'd called him Mr Trager once or twice, but winced when she remembered those blue eyes zeroing in on her, his drawl amused when he said, "It's Tig. Just Tig."

That moment showed her as clear as a billboard: keep your head down, do your work. And remember to call your employer 'Tig'. The problem was, she was usually so bloody nervous around him based on all the rumours, she had ended up calling him by his offensive last name a few times. Most recently, he'd just stared at her in what she interpreted as disgusted confusion. She felt his blue gaze penetrating her brain and probably mentally shredding it to pieces. He'd frowned and shook his head, slamming the door as he'd left.

She knew a fair amount about The Sons; anyone living in Charming knew about them. And after working for Tig, finding guns in odd places, knives and live rounds stowed all over the tiny apartment, woman's underwear, lingerie and intimate apparel strewn haphazardly sometimes, she had done some research. He was feared – greatly - in many circles. An ex-marine, he had done hard time and had a reputation for fearlessness and violence. He loved women; many of them and often. Any person with a lick of sense would have dumped the job and ran a mile. But he never bothered her. Ever. In fact, whenever he saw her, he tended to want to get out of her way. He wasn't kind. He wasn't courteous. But his usual monosyllabic grunts were as close to polite as she was going to get from him.

Besides that, the man was hardly around. Sometimes she would come in and the place was as neat as she'd left it the week before. Yet the money was always stuck to the tiny refrigerator with a magnet, a skull and crossbones emblazoned over the front. No note. Just the cash. Most of the times, more than he'd promised.

But she'd noticed that in the last few months, he tended to be here more often than before. And there was always loads of booze around, too much for casual drinking and more along the lines of numbing himself from something. While she liked to believe he let the whores out before she got there, she didn't kid herself. Once in a while they stumbled out just before she got there, clothes in disarray. And more than one had eyed her suspiciously, some mumbling, "Good luck bitch," others smirking in surprise and saying any variation of "more after last night? He's a fucking stallion".

"Stallion or not, he never made a move on me," she huffed while stripping the bed of its linen with unnecessary vigour. She wasn't a great beauty, but Morena was confident enough to admit she was pretty. With thick, dark, wavy hair pulled back in a serviceable ponytail, a petite, but curvy build, large dark eyes and a generous dusting of the lightest freckles across the bridge of her nose, she was actually closer to _wholesome_ than _sexy siren_. Deflated, she sighed. She was, by definition, the type of woman she was sure Tig would find least attractive of every woman, ever.

She started to dress the bed with fresh linens she'd had laundered. She smoothed the sheets and pillows, dusted the tiny spaces and cleaned the small kitchen. And then she wondered... There were no personal effects in the apartment. _At all._ Not a picture, a note. Not a card. Nothing. There were no CD's, not even a TV. _Was there nothing he cherished? Nothing he kept near?_ There were guns however, and all manner of other accoutrements, but nothing that spoke to the man - who he was or where he was from. Everyone had memories littered through their possessions. At least here, he seemed to have none. Unexpectedly, she felt sadness at that.

A couple hours later, the small apartment was spotless. And as usual, she sat down at the tiny counter and opened her textbooks. She wasn't sure how Tig would feel about her using his space for academia, but it was quiet and she usually got quite a bit done. She tried, she really did. But she just couldn't concentrate and felt oddly... depressed.

All she saw were blue eyes. Sad, dangerous, tortured, violent, capable, _lonely_ eyes. And a shiver ran down her spine involuntarily. He wasn't a man to be trifled with. And yet somehow, she couldn't help but wonder what else there was to his hardened exterior. Was he the cold blooded mercenary almost everyone described? Or were there shades of grey?

"Why are you even thinking about this? He's dangerous. He's kind of crazy. Focus on the crazy, the _numerous_ amounts of question marks, the whores! His prison record..." For the second time that morning, the tiny apartment's walls bore testimony to an occupant whispering, "Pack it away, Morena."


	3. Captured By A Moments Grace

Time on the road, his powerful machine roaring beneath him, Tig felt almost human. When he turned into Teller-Morrow, his head was clear, his conscious though, cloudy and troubled as ever. Getting off his bike, he spotted Opie across the yard. They exchanged a cursory nod. Even though Opie seemed to have moved on from the death of his wife, he knew better. The other man would never forget. And Tig was sure, he struggled to forgive. And who was to say he should. A man didn't just recover from losing the kind of life and love he'd shared with Donna. A man shouldn't have to. But he'd found some kind of happiness with Lyla. Tig wondered why that sort of happiness eluded him. _You don't deserve it_, his conscious whispered. His gut clenched.

The decision he'd made with Clay was a fucked up one. And although they had never discussed it since, the ramifications lived within him, gnawed at him. One day he expected, it would consume him.

Walking into the clubhouse, the usual scene greeted him. Crow eaters off on the couches sucking face and dry humping each other while some prospects salivated over the show. At the pool table, a leggy blonde he recognised from Caracara straddled Chibs's lap, whispering something that amused the man greatly, his hands roaming freely up and down her midriff. Smoke hung low over the tables; Juice, Bobby, Piney and Jax were smoking and playing poker.

"Poker at 11am. Jesus, you're all fucking brave. I think I saw Gemma across the lot. She catch you all in here boozing, feeling up the porn princesses and playing cards, dicks will roll."

"Get off your fucking soap box boy," Piney said around the fat cigar in his mouth. "You want in or not?"

Tig grinned. "Sons of bitches. Gemma 'aint making mince with my balls."

"Pussy."

Tig grinned and moved over to the bar, grabbing a whisky and throwing it back. He glanced around the room and looked at each of the men. He didn't really have a best friend. Clay was the closest to him, the closet brother. But the shit with Donna had placed an uneasy wedge between them. And although business had resumed as normal, they both felt the shift in their friendship. Things would never be the same. The unfailing loyalty he had once provided on a platter was now harder to serve up to the president of SAMCRO.

Tig was very aware of what most of his brothers thought of him. Depraved, violent, perhaps sadistic and cruel. Some of it was true. Most of it, not so much. He couldn't say he didn't play up to their image either. It was easier to pretend to be someone else. Much easier than the reality of truth. Like most of them, he had a complicated past, complicated upbringing, complicated adolescence, complicated relationships and a complicated history with violence. Well, maybe the complicated relationships were a thing of the past. Now he fucked 'um and left 'um. That was one area he refused to complicate. A man had needs. He ensured he tended to those needs - with frequency. But there was no place for love and tender feelings. That part of him had died a long time ago. He didn't need it. And he certainly didn't want it. _I don't_, he reiterated. He blamed the ricocheting affirmations in his subconscious on his sluggish functioning.

By late afternoon, numerous cars had been tuned, truck tires changed, club business attended to and the ramblings of another party out at the porn studio confirmed. As much as he wanted a hot body and a stiff drink, Gemma had invited the sons to dinner. Jax and his Old Lady were celebrating their engagement and knowing Gemma, no attendance meant getting your balls placed into a vice while she squeezed them viciously.

Stepping over the threshold, he was welcomed by Jax and all the sons. Food was piled high, delicious aromas mixing with the smell of cigar's, cigarettes, men, leather and… lemons. Lemons. _What the fuck?_ Among many other dishes spread across the table, fucking fate had Gemma lay the platter of marinated, fried fish served with loads of freshly cut lemons right in front of him. Wide eyes, freckles and dark, long, cascading hair sprang into his mind unbidden and his body tightened in reaction.

"Beer, Prospect!" he called as a tray passed by him. No one paid him much attention. Tonight he was drinking to avoid thinking about innocence and lemons. He bit into the offensive fruit, facing his irritation head on. _Fucking fool_, he thought, his throat burning as the bitter taste filled his mouth.

For dessert, Tara served up lemon cheesecake. Tig rolled his eyes and cursed, throwing his napkin onto his plate. He was losing his fucking mind.

"Jesus, what's with the fucking lemons?"

Tara started, surprised. "Excuse me?"

Instant remorse. You just weren't disrespectful to Jax's Old Lady. "Tara… I ur.."

"Brother, what the fuck?" Opie stepped up and looked at him with an angled brow and concern. _Concern_. It almost undid him.

He wanted to punch something. Or someone. And what made it worse was he didn't even know why he felt this way. _That's a lie. You do_. Jesus. That made it even worse.

"I'm sorry. Sorry. Just not feeling it." He grabbed his leather jacket and spoke swiftly as he headed to the door. "Gemma, Tara, thanks for the meal. It was delicious. Really. I'm just gonna take off."

The door slammed. The room stared stunned.

"What the hell just happened?" Jax asked.

Clay waved his hand, smoke from his cigar trailing everywhere. "Probably late for a lay."


	4. There's So Much I Left Behind

"Rena! Hey! How are things going?"

She swung around at the sound of the voice. Dr. Tara Knowles stood beside her at the admissions desk. She'd known the other woman for close to a year and they were on friendly terms.

"Dr. Knowles. Hi."

"How you settling in? This hospital is known for its trauma. Even if it is a small facility."

"It's going okay. Dr Navid is putting me through my paces. But I like it." Morena eyed Tara suspiciously. "Aren't you supposed to be on maternity leave?"

Tara laughed and Morena admired the attractive woman. She was confident and lovely. But she had seen her iron will in the ER. Tara Knowles had the brains to back up all the good looks. It made her very hard to dislike.

"Guilty as charged. I'm just here with my boys. They had check-ups in Paeds." Tara swept her fringe out of her eyes impatiently and something flashed on her left hand.

Morena reached out. The diamond, set in platinum, elegant and simple winked. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

Tara grinned and a feint trace of red washed over her cheeks. "That's a yes." She glowed.

"Congratulations!" Morena had never met Jax Teller, but she had seen him around. The man exuded a crazy magnetism. She could see why Tara was attracted to him. He was a blonde, tattooed, Norse God. She wondered how their relationship worked. At first glance, it seemed like there was nothing they could possibly have in common.

"Thank you. We haven't set a date yet. But Jax's mother is already in wedding planner mode. So I don't think it will be long." Before Morena could respond, Jax came strolling down the corridor, cradling a dark haired baby in one arm, an older boy, blonde and the spitting image of his father held on to his daddy's hand, until he spotted his mother and made a beeline for her.

The scene was almost the live action interpretation of an oxymoron. It just boggled the mind. This tough, rough, tattooed biker, cradling his babies so carefully, putty in the hands of his children. It shouldn't make sense. And yet it did.

Tara swung her son into her arms just as Jax made it to her side. With his free arm, he pulled Tara close in a move that was possessive and he knew it. Morena felt a pang of something akin to jealously. Here was clearly love. He kissed her neck.

"Morena, this is Abel, little Thomas and this is Jax."

"How's it going?" He let go of Tara's waist long enough to shake her hand and beam a lopsided smile at her.

The intercom buzzed and Morena's name was called. Dr Navid required some labs. She excused herself and wished Tara well.

In a hurry, she took the corner at breakneck speed and almost lost her neck with the force of the whiplash she experienced. Knocking into a solid brick wall, the air left her lungs in a rush and her charts went flying. When hands reached out to stop her inevitable decent to the tiled floor, she realised it wasn't a wall.

"What the fuck?"

She looked up and dark eyes clashed with blue ones. Spring with winter. The steel traps holding her upright were the arms of Tig Trager.

How long they stood like that, she wasn't sure. She knew she didn't breathe. She couldn't. She knew she felt his heart beating where their chests touched. _Or maybe it's mine_. But he was holding her so tightly. And so very close.

Eventually he pushed her away, a little toughly, but his hands were gentle on her arms as he made sure she was set on her feet before he let go.

"You." It was said in a tone that was almost accusatory. He was frowning; quite ferocious. She was determined not to have him undermine her courage. He was just a man. A grumpy one. But flesh and blood.

She righted herself and tried to salvage her dignity, looking for her charts and pens. It was better than looking at him. She _couldn't_ look at him.

"Yes. Me." She bent to collect her dispersed paraphernalia but couldn't find the chart. Her hair had come undone and was slowly cascading down her back. _Great. I'm a bloody mess_. Mortified, her cheeks were pink by the time she was forced to look at him.

Tig held the chart out to her. He had picked it up but still hadn't said a word. "I'm sorry I barged into you. I'm on my way to see a Doctor." He still looked at her as though he was baffled by her appearance. Frown lies ran across his forehead, his eyes... disturbed.

He wore what he usually wore. Black jeans, short sleeved black T-Shirt, his SAMCRO kutte and spiked leather cuffs on both his wrists. His hair was windswept and unruly. He looked like what a fallen angel must look like if it had a human form – angry, sad, tortured and a little lonely.

She reached for the folder and made sure she grabbed the very end. Two fingers on his right hand had two heavy looking, thick silver rings with reapers. She couldn't help but notice that his hands were big, with long fingers, quite elegant for a male, but strong, dusted with a light sprinkling of dark hair. His hands looked... capable.

"You're working here." A statement.

"I'm completing my internship. I think I might have mentioned that to you in the minute it took for you to interview me." She had no idea why she'd said that.

His eyes narrowed.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Jax and Tara. I need to take Jax's bike back to the garage. He's driving home with his Old Lady and the kids."

After his answer, she realised she hadn't really expected him to even answer.

She made a move to leave and her neck exploded with pain. She must have swayed because the next thing she knew, his arms held her upright and this time her hands clutched his arms to stabalise herself. His tattooed skin was warm and she could feel the springy hairs on his arms beneath her fingers.

"Are you alright?" He demanded urgently, pushing some hair behind her ear to see her better. "Jesus, we're in a hospital. Should I carry you somewhere?"

"No! No." It was overwhelming. "I think I hurt my neck when I knocked into you." For reasons of self-preservation, she removed her hands from his arms slowly and moved it cup to her neck. "Probably a sprain."

He made a move to touch her neck too; his hand hovered and then dropped to his side when she stepped back.

"If you wouldn't mind dropping those at reception, I'll head over to emergency and get one of the Doctors to have a look." The last thing she needed was him touching or carrying her somewhere.

He looked reluctant but picked up the discarded items. "Sure."

Morena smiled at him tentatively. He didn't smile back. "Thank you."

"For almost running you down?"

"I did the running. And into you."

Pleasure filled her belly when he eventually cracked a smile. His teeth were white; crow's feet fanning out from the corners of his eyes and laugh lines cascading around the sides of his mouth.

His smile was charming.

"You sure you're gonna be okay?"

"I would nod, but then you'd probably have to carry me." She was sure she saw his eyes twinkle. _My imagination_. "I'll be fine."

She turned to leave but he called, "If you need the week off, it's no problem," as if he wanted to prolong their exchange. She mentally chastised herself for her ridiculous notions.

"Thanks. I'll let you know. I can get hold of you at Teller-Morrow right?"

He nodded.

"Okay." She sent one last furtive smile his way and headed down the hall.

This time, because she couldn't turn her neck around, she didn't realise that he was the one watching her progress until she was out of sight. Even for a little while after she had disappeared.


	5. Even More That Waits In Time

"Tigger!" Clay called from the inside of the Teller-Morrow office. "Call."

Tig walked into the office, wiping his greasy hands on a cloth.

"This is no pussy-hotline. Your crows call here when Gemma is around, there will be no fucking of _any kind_ for weeks."

He took the cordless phone, expecting it to be a call from one of his regulars out at Caracara. He wasn't in the mood.

"Yeah."

"Hi. I'm sorry to bother you at work. But you said I could call."

In an instant his mouth went bone dry. He tried to swallow and noticed Clay watching him. He stepped out of the office for some privacy.

"It's Morena," she clarified into the silence. "I'm not your..." he guessed she couldn't say pussy, "... one of your… er… crows." The way she ended the sentence sounded like a question.

He almost felt his cheeks burn and he was disgusted with himself.

"How's the neck?"

"In a brace. I sprained my longis colli and capitis muscles when I collided with you."

"Jesus, your what? No doctor speak. English woman."

"I have whiplash." Her laugh was breathy and relaxed. "I have to live down the fact that I got it while colliding very spectacularly with your chest."

"Manly and muscled chest. Just tell people that." The corners of his lips couldn't stop from lifting. He caught himself.

She laughed. "I'm sure that will make all the difference in the world."

There was an awkward silence before they both started speaking at once.

"-If you need some time off-"

"-I'll need some time off-"

"I'm sorry. You go ahead." Her breath came out in a whisper with what he interpreted as a nervous giggle.

Despite himself, he was charmed. He didn't remember the last time he was around a woman whose giggle was genuine and not part of the act that precluded paid sex.

Her voice did funny things to his insides. This time, he couldn't blame it on the alcohol. _Fuck_. "If you need some time off, it's no problem. I'm at the club for the next week anyway, so the place won't go to hell."

"It should only be for a week or so. I can't really move around or see what's going on around me. It's quite frustrating actually."

Clay peaked out of the office and raised his brow when he saw Tig leaning casually against the wall, left leg bent at the knee and free hand resting in the pocket of his overalls.

He couldn't remember the last time he was that relaxed. The realisation instantly made him uncomfortable.

Sensing Clay's attentions, he straightened, his voice clipped. "Time off's not a problem."

"Thanks." She must have sensed the change in his mood. "I'll see you next week. See your apartment I mean."

He nodded and realised she couldn't see it. Words were required. "Yeah. Got it."

"Who you cosying up to on the phone? Haven't seen you have to work that hard to score women."

"It's no one."

"Bullshit." Bobby strolled into the office. "Gave us quite a show, brother. 'No one' has you leaning against a wall and whispering sweet nothings like a prospect who's pissed and getting ready for his first fucking lay."

Clay puffed smoke from his cigarette and laughed loudly.

"Jesus." Tig shook his head and headed back to work. For the rest of the afternoon, he tried to forget about soft whispers and feminine giggles. And he tried to forget the image of Donna. Bloodied and dead. His head was pounding with the need to contain his thoughts.

That night he headed to Caracara with Juice, Chibs and Bobby.

At 11pm he started drinking.

By 3am, he had fucked three different croweaters.

By 4am he ended up at his apartment. Even though he'd said he wouldn't be there.

By 5am he was finally drunk.

By 6am he had passed out.

When he woke, it was noon and he was covered in a film of sweat. Burying his head in the coolness of his pillow, the scent of fresh lemons assaulted his senses.

Tig let out a frustrated roar, punched his pillow and then groaned. He flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Feeling like shit was usually the partner to a wild night. He was grateful he had come home alone. He didn't think he could stomach Caracara's finest in bed next to him.

For years, he had lived this life and he had been happy in it. SAMCRO was his family, Clay was his best friend and the sons were his brothers. But a feeling of apathy and discontent grew within him daily, choking him, making him feel unsettled and vulnerable. He wasn't used to examining his feelings. And he wasn't used to dealing with so much guilt.

At some point he had realised he hadn't chosen this life. He had been born into it and it was who he was. There was no room for baggage like family or relationships right now. _Ever_. Random and frequent sex to satisfy his carnal needs. It had always been enough.

So why wasn't it anymore? Why did he silently observe Jax and Tara, Opie and Lyla and wonder what that kind of happiness felt like? Why was the warmth that spread through his chest at the impossible fantasy of happiness accompanied by the smell of lemons and the mirage of dark eyes and cascading layers of hair?

And why _her_? A woman he barely knew. A woman whose life was so vastly removed from his own. A woman who would never be able to accept the violence that followed him always. She didn't belong.

And yet, he wanted her. In the dim room, Tig admitted it. He ran his hands over his face then lay his arm across his forehead, his eyes closed.

_I want her. Maybe, _he realised_, I need her._

He wanted to touch her, taste her. Run his hands all over her curvy body, cup her and pull her close. Lord, he wanted to crush his hands through her hair and ravage her mouth, hear her sigh in his ears.

He wanted her.

_But she won't want you back_. His eyes stung.


	6. Everything's So Undefined

"You're good to go," the Doctor said.

It was more like two weeks before life resumed as normal. And it was two weeks without any communication with Tig. While she still worked her shifts at the hospital, she was assigned a lighter load.

She harbored insane hopes of seeing him at the hospital again, looking down the corridors, looking up when doors swung open, heart in her throat. One night when she looked up and saw a dark figure approaching the desk, her body shook from the involuntary flutters in her stomach. When she realised it was just the security guard, she figured it was time to admit that she was starting to develop feelings for an outlaw she didn't even know. Perhaps _starting _was still not honest. She was way past _started _already.

She slammed her locker, disgusted. _I'm in lust with a criminal. My mama would be so proud._

Leaving the hospital, she eyed the dark clouds overhead as she climbed into her VW Beetle and prayed it would start first time. It was old and temperamental. But until she completed her internship, she needed it to run smoothly.

_Just another year baby, come on, _she coaxed. It started raining and she sent a message of thanks as the Beetle sputtered but started first time.

By the time she pulled out of the lot, the rain was coming down in buckets, visibility almost zero. She drove carefully, turning on her headlights and turning down the stereo. She loved the rain, the smell and the sound. But the downpour was dangerous and scary. An shiver of unease danced down her spine and she shivered. The heater didn't work, so she pulled her jersey closer as she navigated down the road.

Getting to a four-way-stop, she squinted and looked left and right. She saw no lights, no vehicles and couldn't hear anything besides the staccato sounds of the rain as it pounded the earth and her car. Carefully, she accelerated and moved to cross the road. She saw the mini-van a second too late. A silver vehicle, it was practically invisible in the sleet. No lights, no hazards, nothing. The van barreled into her car, hitting the little Beetle on the front passenger side.

She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Terror, cold and bone numbing seized her. She felt her safety belt groan, but it held her in place as the little car skid across the intersection, spinning twice before hitting the pavement, bouncing over it and charging into the barrier.

But the belt was old. And the force was just too much. It snapped and Morena felt her body jerk forward, her torso hitting the steering wheel before being thrown sideways, her head hitting the window. The pane shattered from the force. Pain exploded in her head. She felt hot, sticky blood immediately blur her vision. She would have checked where the bleeding came from, but she didn't have the energy.

All she kept thinking was, _please don't let me die. Please don't let me die. _She fought the waves of nausea, rumbling, curling, threatening to eject from her throat. The smell of blood drowned out everything else. She fought it hard and fought the panic too. But it was inevitable. She slumped against the steering wheel and didn't have the strength to lift her head. It was easier to just close her eyes.

In the distance she heard the roar of something. _Thunder?_ She couldn't be sure. The rain was still as relentless as ever, soaking her through the broken window, washing away the blood that kept flowing freely from the gaping wounds on her face.

Her head swam and it was really tempting to succumb to the dark. Unbidden she thought about how she really would have loved to kiss him. Just once. An odd thing to ponder in a moment like this.

She moaned and fought to remain conscious. Pain sliced. Everywhere. It was still raining and she felt cold and knew she was wet. But she heard voices. It was disjointed, a collage of sounds that didn't make much sense. She wanted to call out but couldn't get anything to work.

"Call 911!"

"Fucker who drove into her took off."

She moaned when hands, firm but gentle pushed her backwards, her head lolling to the side as her back hit the seat. Pain exploded everywhere.

"It's alright, sweetheart. I got you."

_That voice._

She was sobbing. She was sure of it. But she didn't know how that was possible. Maybe it was a dream. The same hands scooped her up and her head hit something hard. She was being carried. And then the rain stopped. Or at least it seemed to. She wasn't getting wet any longer. A heavy jacket.

She tried to open her eyes but her lids were too heavy. More voices.

"Ambulance is here."

"Put her on the gurney, Sir."

She was on a flat surface when she started to convulse. It was so cold. The nausea she tried to contain earlier would no longer be suppressed. Bile mixed with her lunch lurched up her throat and she was turned onto her side as she vomited, her body twitching in reaction to the heaving.

"Jesus Christ."

"Are you a friend? Sir? Are you a friend?"

"No. Yeah. Yeah."

She didn't even feel the needles being stuck into her. But there was a burning sensation. She wanted to moan again but it required energy. She had none.

When she was flat on her back again, she slowly opened her eyes. She blinked rapidly, the lights too bright. She whimpered.

Someone lifted her eye-lids and flashed a penlight back and forth.

"Pupils are responsive. Her name?"

"Morena. Morena sweetheart, open your eyes."

That voice again. It was so familiar. And yet the tone... So soft, so concerned. It soothed.

Her lids were heavy but she tried again. For the voice. The pain ensured that darkness threatened again, but she opened her eyes and her head lolled towards the side closest to the sound.

_I know those blue eyes_, she thought. But they weren't cold or detached, the emotions she was used to seeing. They were concerned and… afraid.

_Did he take my hand and kiss it? _Her fingers were enveloped in warmth, but she couldn't be sure.

And then his image began to swim, fading in and out. She closed her eyes as she felt her tears race into her hairline.


	7. Standing On The Edge Of My Fear

Tig sat in the hospital chapel but not because he believed in God really. Or even because he was praying. It was the only place that was quiet. No humming machines, no footsteps, no whispers. He could think.

Three days ago he was on his way back from a gun run with Bobby and Juice. It had been pissing down with rain, but he'd wanted to get back to Charming. Bobby, seeing his determination didn't disagree. He still didn't know what made him push so fucking hard. They could easily have waited the storm out. But he wanted to get back into town. And because of that need, they had happened across the accident minutes after it had happened.

He didn't recognise her car at first, but when he got up close, his stomach threatened to drop right out his ass. Her Beetle had a massive yellow daisy painted across the back. Half was rusted away, but the daisy, paint chipped, with every element working against it, somehow still spread its cheer. He remembered it because the day he had interviewed her, just seeing the offensive flower had made him want to take aim and shoot at the fucking thing.

His bike hadn't even come to a standstill when he was off. Bobby shouted, "Tig, watch the fucking bike!" as it hit the ground. He had already been sprinting towards the vehicle.

"Call 911," Bobby had shouted to Juice.

When he'd reached the driver's side, his knees buckled. She was dead. For the first time in years, Tig Trager, Sergeant at Arms of SAMCRO panicked. His hands had physically shaken as he gently pushed her back, sweet saliva flooding his mouth in relief as she whimpered at being moved.

Bobby had come up to him while Juice rattled off their location to emergency services. "Fucker who drove into her took off."

He hadn't been listening. His attention focused solely on her.

"It's alright, sweetheart. I got you." He had gently lifted her out of the car, cradling her against his chest, his kutte draped over her body, the leather protecting her from the rain.

"Should you even move her?"

He ignored Bobby. It was a moot point. She was already in his arms. _Where the fuck was the ambulance?_ She was starting to shake and then his gut clenched when little sobs wracked her body. She felt tiny. And he felt helpless.

"Ambulance is here!" Juice called. "We got your bike , brother."

The vehicle had hardly come to a standstill when Juice was opening the back. The paramedic was about to climb down but saw Tig standing with her, ready to get in.

"Put her on the gurney, Sir."

He'd lain her down as gently as he could and would have stepped out. But then she started retching and he knew he couldn't leave.

"Jesus Christ."

The paramedic who needed space to move looked at him. "Are you a friend? Sir? Are you a friend?"

The paramedic's hands were moving rapidly, Tig's eyes never left her.

_She wasn't his friend, was she? _

"No," he had answered automatically. But he knew that that would mean he would be ejected from the ambulance. "Yeah. Yeah," he finally said with conviction.

"Her name?" The ambulance started to move.

"Morena Ramos. Morena sweetheart, open your eyes."

She slowly turned towards the sound of his voice and those beautiful, dark eyes stared right at him. Gone was the sunshine. Her eyes were glazed with pain. He wanted to smile. But he didn't dare. He felt his lips tremble and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Her face was bloodied, the paramedic trying to stem the urgent flow of hot fluid. Shards of glass stuck to the right side of her face where she must have hit the window. Her skin was already starting to swell.

To give himself something to do, and offer her the only comfort he could, he gently took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

He watched her eyes glaze over with tears. They shimmered for a moment before gravity pulled them down, the salty wetness mixing with her bloodied visage.

Tig was pulled out of his thoughts when the doors swung open. He didn't bother to look at who it was, assuming it was a patient's family member coming to pray. He did turn when he felt someone quietly sit down next to him.

"Hey. You okay?"

Jax's Old Lady could be one fucking tough bitch. But she also had the kindest heart. And right now, that compassion was aimed at him. Compassion and a fair dose of curiosity. She slid into the pew and sat beside him.

When he didn't answer, she said, "Dr. Kruger says she is going to be fine. Some very light scaring. But with time, they'll fade. Nothing's broken. She's just bruised. The swelling ought to go down in a couple more days."

He knew all of this already. And Tara knew he knew.

"She's been working for me."

He didn't miss the look of surprise that crossed her face. He was almost amused. His hands combed through his hair, the curly mass a complete mess.

"Not in the way you think, Doc. Christ, I wasn't sleeping with her." And because Tara had that way about her, he ended up telling her more than he had intended to. Not about his feelings. That was locked away. But about everything else.

"After Donna," he swallowed hard, "I spent more time at this place I keep and needed someone a couple days a week. She needed the cash, I needed someone discreet. It's an arrangement that worked for us."

Tara had sat quietly and listened. "She's a really great person."

"I wouldn't know. We aren't social."

Those feelings he thought he was suppressing, he should have known the Doc would pick up on.

"Tig…" she looked at him with so much concern he wanted to hit something. _I don't deserve it. _"She doesn't have much family around here. No one she's close to. Rena's bright. Really smart. And kind. She is very well liked here." He stared straight ahead, his eyes burning. "Anyway, she's aw-"

Tig's gut clenched and he crossed his arms defensively.

"No need to warn me to stay away, Tara."

She had the grace to look guilty. "Tig, I didn't mean…"

He cut her off. "She helped me out. I found her at the scene of an accident and I thought the decent thing to do would be to make sure she's okay. Don't worry Tara. Emotionally stable women aren't my thing. I like them wild and preferably in the porn biz. Fuck 'um and leave 'um."

She winced and he almost regretted his crudeness. _Almost_. But not quite. He continued.

"So, no need to worry. I don't fuck bright, smart and kind."

He stood and walked out, the doors swinging wildly with the force of his furious exit.

Tara whispered to the empty room. "I just wanted to tell you she was awake and asking for you."


	8. I See It Clear

Morena was told she had drifted in and out of consciousness for three days. They had kept her sedated because she had lost a lot of blood. She didn't remember much about the accident initially, but as the days passed, she was able to piece it all together.

She remembered _him_ being in her room at odd times in the beginning. She would wake up in the middle of the night, or early in the morning, or late in the afternoon. Just moments in time. His figure in the doorway, his presence at her bedside, his voice when he spoke to someone. His presence had offered comfort and made her feel unbelievably safe.

But then she woke up and he wasn't around. In fact, one week later, even after asking for him, he hadn't come. A big bear of a man called Bobby had come by, as well as a sweet faced, Mohawk wearing younger biker, Juice. Both had helped fill in some of the gaps. They were rough around the edges but kind, and both men had even come back subsequently, just to check in on her progress. Bobby reassured her, Juice tried – and succeeded – in making her laugh.

Morena realised they somehow felt responsible for her and had put themselves in charge of her wellbeing. She didn't mind. They had played a hand in saving her life. She could not quantify what she owed them. Or _him_.

Almost three weeks later, she was ready to be discharged. Tara had offered to take her home but an emergency with the kids meant she had arranged for Juice to be her chauffeur. Dressed simply in a black cotton T-shirt and loose fitting, casual black linen pants, she looked tiny, washed out and so much younger than her thirty three years. The swelling in her face had subsided, but the bruises were slowly going from purple to yellow. She had tried her best to get her hair into a loose bun, but wisps were already escaping and she was tired of trying to tame it. Her shoulder had started aching so she had put it back into its sling. The Doctor felt it was more of a precautionary measure, to take some of the pressure off her shoulder.

She was grateful to be alive, having escaped the accident with nothing worse than a few bruises and scars. Her heart was heavy though. _Why hadn't he come?_ Perhaps she had dreamt his vigil at her bedside. She had been too embarrassed to ask Tara, fearing her feelings and motives would be transparent. _Did her thanks mean so little to him?_

Depressed, she looked up when there was a knock on the door. She couldn't help but feel better when she saw Juice's smile. His face was open and held an almost infantile innocence. While she knew he had to be anything but infantile, he was easy to be around and made her laugh.

"Rena. Ready to go?"

She nodded. "Thanks for taking me home."

"It's really no problem. You okay going on my bike right?" He grabbed the duffel bag on the bed before turning and looking at her, all innocence.

Morena swallowed. "Urm... I'm not sure... my arm..." She saw the crook in his smile. "You're pulling my leg aren't you?"

"Just a little."

She laughed at his playfulness and she felt lighter. It felt good to smile.

"Come on, I have Jax's truck."

On the road, Morena opened the window and let the warm breeze brush across her face. She closed her eyes. It felt nice to feel the sun again. They crossed the intersection where the accident had happened.

Juice looked over at her apologetically. "Sorry. I should have taken a different route."

She shook her head, waving away his concern. "No. I live here. I can't avoid this road. It runs right through town."

She had a thought. "What happened to my car?"

"It's at Teller-Morrow."

"Can it be salvaged? Tell me it can be salvaged. I need it to work for another year – at least."

Juice snorted. "That thing shouldn't be allowed on the road."

"Put your bias aside. Daisy isn't the most elegant vehicle, but she gets me where I'm going."

He snorted but changed direction.

"Where are we going?"

"To have a look at your baby. Daisy. I see the creativity that went into that name. Must be that huge, nasty flower on her ass."

"Don't mock."

He laughed. So did she.

A few minutes later the truck swung into the garage. For the first time it hit her that Tig might be around.

"Is everyone at work?" she asked tentatively, by way of conversation.

Juice shrugged noncommittally. "Most are off on club business."

Gingerly, she stepped out of the truck, her nerves a little frayed. A part of her didn't want to see him at all. Another part wanted to see him so badly it hurt. _It's just to express my gratitude_, she told herself.

She spotted Bobby across the lot and he immediately came over, wiping his hands on a stained cloth.

"Hey sugar."

"Bobby." She let out a little squeal of laughter as she was swept up in a very gentle bear hug. He deserved points for managing to embrace her while being mindful of her sling.

"You look great."

"Thanks. Juice brought me over to see, Daisy."

Bobby looked confused.

"Her car with the huge daisy on its ass."

She shot Juice a scowl.

"Come on over. She's banged up some but I think we can get her going again." Bobby led her over to the back of the garage. The damage wasn't actually that bad on closer inspection but because it was such an old model, it seemed to look worse than it was.

"The door will need some work, the window replaced, and of course your safety belts fitted to decent safety standards."

Morena beamed. "Seriously? You can get her going again?"

"We'll make it happen. I might even get Juicey to paint the daisy back on."

She laughed and flung her free arm over Bobby and then Juice, kissing the first and then the second soundly on the cheek.

"I appreciate it so much. Thank you." She looked at them with grateful eyes. "What's the cost?"

Their conversation was interrupted by a group of bikers entering the lot in formation. It was actually a striking sight, all those shiny, beautiful bikes gliding to a halt. She spotted _him_.

He hadn't seen her yet and for a little while, she was able to observe him in his element. His bike was big and black, the detail impossible to discern from where she stood. Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes as she watched him park his ride. When he removed his helmet, his hair was mussed and he tousled it even more my running his hands through it, shaking the curly mess.

He wore black jeans and a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows under his leather kutte which didn't seem any worse for wear after being drenched in the accident. On his wrists were leather bracelets and strapped to his left thigh was what looked like a knife.

It was the first time she saw and heard him laugh, the rich, hearty sound carrying across the lot. And she admitted to herself, it was glorious. She imagined the corners of his eyes crinkling, the laugh lines around his mouth creasing. He was kidding around with Jax, the two of them laughing. He looked dark and dangerous and very, very sexy.

"Hey Tig! Morena's checking out the Beetle. Wants to know what the repairs will total to."

She tensed immediately, cursing Bobby. _This wasn't the plan. I was supposed to watch him undetected._

_I'm not ready to face him_, she immediately realised in a flat panic. But what she wanted didn't matter. The animation of a few minutes before disappeared when he turned and spotted her. He had removed his sunglasses and squinted in their direction. The smile he wore literally melted from his face and a grim expression replaced it. Her depression intensified.

Saying something to Jax, he left the other man and strode over. Every step he took seemed to reverberate in her chest. Juice turned them both around so that when Tig was walking towards their little group, her free arm was still around the young biker and his around her waist, gently holding her in place. Her palms started to sweat and she felt cold when Juice suddenly took a step back.

"I'll be back in a minute to take you home."

She nodded dumbly and watched Juice and Bobby walk away. It couldn't be helped. She was forced to look up. He had stopped in front of her, his jaw clenched.

The only defense she had was anger.


	9. Here's My Resolution

When Tig turned into the yard, the very last thing he had expected was the woman he had been trying to put from his mind. When Bobby called over, he thought he had not heard him correctly. Did he say _Morena_?

He removed his sunglasses and looked over, squinting to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him. With her arm in a sling, the wind blowing her hair all over the place, she looked tiny, pale and vulnerable. But then he noticed her arm around Juice Ortiz. And his arm around her. Jealously, thick and almost fucking tangible flooded his gut. He had the urge to knock the younger man on his ass and break the hand that had touched her just for good measure.

He stalked over, his eyes burning into Juice. He knew he'd gotten the message when he saw him step back and say "I'll be back in a minute to take you home."

She cradled her arm and looked up at him. He didn't know what he expected, but it hadn't been fire.

"Hi." He shifted around a little uncomfortably when she didn't say anything. "You need a price?"

"A price? You're seriously asking me if I need a price?"

He purposefully remained obtuse, just raising a brow at her.

"I'm fine, by the way. Recovered and well on the mend."

"I see that. I'm glad."

Her eyes narrowed. He could tell she wasn't sure if he was mocking her.

"Where's Juice?"

His blood started heating. He frowned. "Why?"

She attempted to step pass him and looked in the direction of the office.

"Oh no you don't, darlin'." He made a move to touch her. "What's going on between you and the damned kid?"

She sidestepped. "Don't touch me." She ignored the question completely. His blood sizzled.

His frown intensified until the lines etched in his forehead seemed permanent. His eyes bore holes into hers.

"I'll ask Bobby to call me with the costs. Goodbye Tig." Then his blood boiled.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He raked his hands through his hair. It seemed impossible and yet he managed to tussle it even more. He didn't actually know what he wanted from her.

She turned slowly and said the last thing he had ever expected. "Fuck you. I quit."

She walked confidently across the lot, right into Gemma. _Jesus Christ. Couldn't he catch a break?_

He didn't hear what they said but a minute later Juice appeared. The width of his smile grated in Tig's nerves. The jealously threatened to choke him. _Violent_. He felt violent.

_Go to her. Say you're sorry._

The temptation was almost more than he could bear. But this was best. She deserved the attentions of a man far better than he. But that man would not be Juice. _Christ, he would make sure of that_, he thought grimly.

He called her name. "Morena." He couldn't stop himself.

She didn't even look at him as she hurried across the lot and jumped into the truck. A minute later, they were out of view.

Tig turned around, spotted a wrench and pounded it into the boxing bag suspended from the ceiling. This was what he'd wanted_. I wanted her gone_. He repeated it with every swing of the wrench. _And now she hates me_. He pounded even harder.

"You about done destroying company property?"

He saw Gemma and dropped the offensive wrench, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Sorry." He made a move past her. He needed a drink.

"Tara says the girl was asking for you," she called after him.

"She's a woman, Gemma." He kept walking.

"Good, she'll have to be one to keep up with you. You hear what I said? She asked for you!" He stopped and turned. "But you're a man and a god damn fool so of course you didn't go."

"Jesus, Gemma. I haven't seen Morena since the accident. She didn't ask for me."

"Yes she did. And Tara tried to tell you but christ knows you've got that stubborn, self righteous streak. Girl just wanted to thank you for saving her life. You go and fuck that up. No wonder she gave you the cold shoulder."

He sighed. Tara had been trying to tell him Morena was asking for him. _While she was warning you to stay away from her_. Fuck. He didn't need these complications.

"What's the problem Tigger? You not interested in happy? It's the Donna shit isn't it?"

"Shit?" he exploded. "That's what you call it? It's a lot more complicated than just shit!"

She stepped right into his face, cupped it roughly and said. "Pack it away, baby. No good can come from dwelling on it. What happened with Donna was unfortunate. It caused a divide in this club that still aint healed. You have to pack it away. For the sake of the club. And your own."

He shook his head in disgust and pried her fingers from his face.

"Fuck you, Gemma."

"You made a mistake, Tig. Let it go before it destroys you."

He stalked into the club and moved around the prospect at the bar, pouring himself a double. And then another. She had asked for him and he had never fucking showed. No wonder she was pissed.

This was why he fucked porn bitches. No complications. _But they don't make you smile._ He downed another shot.

Juice walked into the club and he pushed away from the bar, pushing him back out the door.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

He didn't think. He just reacted. He punched him square in the jaw, as hard as he could. Juice reeled but stood his ground. Tig attacked. He swung, but this time the younger man was prepared. The blow glanced off his shoulder and Juice caught him in the midsection. Before long, both bloodied and bruised, Tig shouted: "She's off fucking limits."

Juice didn't even ask who. "You think I don't know that? Jesus. I gave her a ride home. That's all. If you want her that much, why the fuck are you fighting me?"

_Because she deserves better than someone like me._

"Where does she stay?" he asked suddenly.

"What? You're serious?"

His stare was cold and almost deadly, his eyes had gone the palest blue. Juice passed him the page Gemma had given him earlier, her address scribbled on the front.

Juice shook his head, winced but then he smiled a little. Gemma had warned him this might happen. Rubbing his jaw, he watched Tig ride out of the lot.

Damned if Tiggy didn't have the look of a man in love.


	10. I'm Letting Go

She lay back in the bath, giving herself another minute before getting out. It had been a long, disappointing day. While her depression hovered, her anger was sparked in equal measures. _Asshole_. He was obviously made of stone. Did he not even care if she was breathing? He had literally saved her life. And then he couldn't be bothered to adhere to a request to see him. _Bastard_. She had wanted to thank him for what he had done. What did he think? That she would make a nuisance of herself? Pledge her life for his? She snorted indelicately. _Bitch_. Could she call him that? _Too late. I just did_.

Juice had dropped her at her apartment by late evening, being kind enough to bring up her bags and double check that there was nothing she needed. The apartment was a little roomier than Tig's place, but it wasn't large by any means. One bedroom, a bathroom that had a bath, an open plan kitchen and a little lounge. Once owned by her parents, the place was in a semi-decent neighbourhood. It was the only thing they had left behind. The décor, like her tastes, were a combination of practical and comfortable instead of over the top and fashionable. Colourful, cheery pillows, a welcoming and warm ambiance with old but comfortable furniture.

Almost a prune, she stepped from the bath gingerly and removed the towel around her head that had prevented it from getting wet. Operating without the sling, her muscles were warm so it didn't hurt too much. She took advantage of her limber state and lathered her body in her favourite lemon body butter. The fragrance soothed and made her feel better.

She pulled on her pyjamas; plain, matching white pants and a t-shirt. She was just about to untie and brush out her hair when the doorbell rang.

_Perfect timing_. It was almost 8pm and she had ordered take-out.

Shrugging into her gown, she padded to the door and pulled it open. Her jaw dropped.

"Catching flies?"

She snapped her jaw shut. _Him_.

"What are you doing here?" She drank in the delicious sight of him. "And what _happened _to you?"

Her anger simmered some and she ushered him in, refusing to give rise to gossip at the sight of a bloodied biker at her door. The big, sexy, dark devil stood in the centre of her tiny apartment, his feet planted on a colourful rug. The picture just didn't make sense.

But she was a medical professional and her training took over. She didn't think about it until the moment just before her hands would touch him. She hesitated, her gaze flicking up to his.

"May I?"

Besides a clenched jaw, his expression was blank. She felt his eyes fix on her as she proceeded to examine him.

She cradled the side of his face and turned his head. He made no objection. His hair was a tangled mess; she wasn't sure if it was dirt or blood caked in it. She brushed some curls away from his forehead and noticed a gash, but the blood had already begun clotting. His left eye was bruised, his cheek as well. She gingerly touched the skin. He winced.

"Sorry."

Beneath his goatee, his lip was split and there was dry blood in the corner of his mouth, some on his chin.

"You don't sound sorry."

She rolled her eyes and tried again. "What happened?"

She looked at his hands. When they touched, her gaze flickered up to his face again. Her cheeks burned and she was annoyed with herself. _I'm not a bloody teenager anymore!_

"I'm sure you didn't come all this way to be looked over by a med-student."

She ran her fingers over his knuckles, they were all bruised. In some places, the skin had split open. Three heavy silver rings had taken most of the hits on his right hand. Those fingers didn't look too bad. She turned his hands over, palms facing up. The pads of his fingers and the centre if his palms were rough and calloused. But there was no further bruising.

"I came to apologise." He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "I acted like a dick."

She noticed he didn't specify _when _he'd acted that way.

"There's been a lot of shit going down lately and I ur… I didn't mean to… fuck… just sorry. I'm sorry."

He obviously didn't apologise often. Morena knew this was the best she was going to get.

"Well, you did save my life. I suppose the least I can do is clean you up." She gestured to the sofa. "Have a seat. I'll get my first aid kit."

When she got back, he was standing right where she'd left him. He was looking around with curiosity, as if he couldn't make up his mind whether he was intrigued or disturbed. She moved to the kitchen counter and sat on a high stool, gesturing for him to follow.

"This is great," he said dryly. "Doctor sits, patient stands."

The tension dissipated.

"Oh shut up. You're much too tall and even if I sat down next to you, it's a long way up."

She made him stand in front of her while she sat on the high chair. It put her close to eye level. Being that close made her feel dizzy. _Be professional_. She wet some cotton wool and cleaned his gashes.

"You know, you look out of place." She gestured to his rings. "Off."

He grimaced but complied. "I'm afraid leather and tattoos don't gel well with the rainbows and sunshine in here. Christ, I think I need my sunglasses. I hope there are no fucking dolls around."

"Dolls? No." She laughed. "It's not polite to insult your host's decor."

She applied antiseptic, two tiny butterfly band aids to his cheek, but didn't wrap his knuckles.

"You need to let this breathe."

"I've been in more than enough fist fights sweetheart. I'll heal." He flexed his fingers and put the rings back on. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. And ur... I'm sorry I told you to… fuck off." She blushed. "I was mad and... I don't quit by the way."

He hadn't moved and he was too close for comfort. Nervous tension again.

He raised an eyebrow. "Job description might have changed some darlin'."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want to fuck Juice?"

Morena gasped in outrage, blinking at the rapid change of topic. By reflex, she raised her hand to slap him. He caught it.

"That's… its none of your damned business." She felt the colour rise in her face.

He leaned closer, his tattooed arms caging her in.

"You like him." It was a statement.

"What does it matter to you?" She could feel his breath on her face, his eyes were mesmerising and she couldn't look away. Her heart picked up its pace and she swore she could feel the throbbing all the way to her toes.

"It matters, Morena…" His lips hovered just above hers. "Because this once, I won't share."

She heard the words, but it didn't register. She didn't care any longer. Not about her dignity, not about being intimidated or shy. Not about being disappointed or angry. She did something she never thought she would do, but wanted so badly to.

She looked him in the eye, cupped his face and softly pressed her lips to his.


	11. All I Need To Learn Is Along This Road

The guilt he carried with him daily only eased when he was with her. Those days in hospital beside her had seen some peace from the ghosts of his past. Damned if he even knew why. He barely knew her. But he was going to be selfish. And he couldn't even muster up the decency to be ashamed about it.

When he came to this apartment tonight, he had known things would end one way. What he hadn't counted on was _her _putting the moves on _him_. When she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, the implication that she wanted him was confirmed. He began to breathe. Her lips were soft and warm. He pulled back slightly. Her eyes were closed.

"Morena." He was aware that his voice was a throaty, scratchy version of itself.

She opened her eyes and he felt himself drown a little. He wasn't a fucking romantic. But here he was, lightheaded as fuck. Up close, her skin pink, dusted all those freckles, she looked so young. Too beautiful, too innocent, too _good _for someone like him.

"Christ, you always smell like fresh lemons." He traced the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"It's my body butter. Don't you like it?"

In response he licked the pulse at the base of her throat. "I smell you everywhere. Jesus, you fucking torment me." He felt her pulse leap. He reached behind her and let her bun loose, brushing his fingers through her hair.

"What are you doing?" She was breathless.

"Fulfilling a god damn fantasy." His eyes locked with hers as his fingers fisted in her hair. Dragging her lips towards his, he whispered, "and doing this right darlin'," before crushing his lips to hers.

He poured his soul into that kiss. When their tongues met, his body blazed. Her lips opened immediately, granting him access to delicious secrets. The kiss was hot, wet, urgent, _sexy_. His hands angled her head, granting him better access, his tongue duelling with hers. She gave as good as she got.

She pushed at his kutte and it landed at his feet. In response, his hands went to the front of her gown and undid the sash. It parted, so did her legs. He stepped between them and their bodies pressed together for the first time. Cotton and denim separated yearning flesh. Mid-kiss, she gasped and pressed closer, plunging her hands into his hair.

Tig didn't know what he'd been expecting, but her passionate response did come as somewhat of a surprise. What she lacked in skill, she made up for in enthusiasm. He could kiss her mouth forever. _Christ_. But they needed to breathe and so his lips scorched a trail down her throat, his hands pushing the gown off and skilfully slipping under her t-shirt.

His hands cupped her breasts, the nipples already hard. She wasn't wearing a bra and her mounds spilled into his palms, the globes high and firm. He was hard. She was panting.

She dragged his head back to her mouth. He was drunk on her lips. He couldn't get enough. Their kiss had just become x-rated.

She tugged urgently at his shirt, no patience for the buttons, pushing her hands underneath. She bit his lip.

Tig's temperature soared. Her hands, tentative but willing, explored his skin. Goosebumps raced from the base of his skull to his fingertips. He was ready to bury himself inside her. They were wearing too much clothing.

Reluctantly he wrenched his mouth from hers. Her skin was deeply flushed, her eyes glazed with passion.

"Tig?" She searched his eyes, her lips swollen and wet.

"Are you sure? " He had never asked a woman that before.

She swallowed, her eyes dropping to his lips and then nodded. "Make love to me."

Sweat broke out on his upper lip. He didn't think he ever _made love _to anyone. That wasn't what he did. She needed to know that.

He scooped her off the chair and her legs automatically wrapped around his waist. She buried her face in his neck and placed hot, open mouthed kisses there before trailing up to nip at his ear.

_I'm going to explode_. Jesus, he felt like a fucking teenager.

The apartment was tiny, the direction of the bedroom didn't require much in the way of guesswork. He stumbled through it, their mouths fused in graphic delight. He groaned, she signed. He lowered her onto the edge of the bed.

He needed to be clear. "We're gonna have sex, darlin'." Not the most romantic thing he had ever said.

She didn't react; she simply climbed onto her knees and unbuttoned the few buttons that required attention on his shirt, silently pushing it from his shoulders. It fell to the floor.

He watched her eyes travel over his torso and examine his tattoos. He also saw her swallow.

Before he forgot, he reached around and withdrew his gun from the back of his jeans. With one hand, he ensured the safety was activated, his eyes never leaving hers; he placed it on her dresser. Next, he unstrapped his knife, placing it next to the firearm.

_The physical evidence of who I am. You can still back out._

She didn't blink, only reached for his hand and pulled him down on top of her. His relief was like a physical pain. He thought he loved her in that moment. Immediate rejection of the notion. This was sex.

Cradled between her thighs, he removed her t-shirt, his bare chest pressed to her naked one, the silver reaper at the end of the thick chain around his neck rested between her breasts.

"You have sex with me." She pulled his head back down to her lips. "I'll _make love _to you."

His final defences crumbled. _Jesus, I feel naked_. It wasn't physical. He felt raw on the inside.

His hands moved, running across her smooth skin. Palms cupped her breasts and his mouth dipped to kiss them, the rosy peaks disappearing between his lips. Tig sucked on her nipples, losing himself to the sound of her accelerated breathing, her head thrashing from side to side. He rolled the bud between his teeth, the sting soothed with the flick of his tongue. He felt her thighs grip the sides of his torso. Her hands roamed across his torso, her fingers combing through the fine hairs on his chest. Her own tongue swirled around his nipples and he felt his eyes roll back in his head. Those hands continued their exploration, her nails digging into his back. The sweetest pain.

When she reached down and tentatively reached for his dick, he knew he couldn't let her continue. The pressure in his groin would not be able to handle her explorative ministrations.

He pushed her down and explored her body instead. Her skin was milky, the scent of lemons like a cocoon around him. He kissed her belly, relieving her of her pyjama bottoms and himself of the last of his clothes.

She tugged at his hair, wanting more, bringing their lips together in a hot, vulgar kiss. _Fuck_. She was perfect. Rough fingers delved between her thighs and he hardened even more. She was drenched. He pushed a finger inside her, then another. They glided right in, her walls convulsing around him. When she moaned against his mouth, he thought it would not be a bad way to leave this world. Her body was tight, hot and wet. And it was all for him.

"Please. Tig. _Please_."

He left her briefly to roll on protection and then parted her thighs, bending her legs at the knees.

His dick was huge. For most of the woman he'd slept with, because of who they were and what they did for a living, it wasn't a problem. But sometimes even they needed lube. While he suspected that he wasn't Morena's first, he would stake his fucking bike on the notion that her sexual partners were nowhere near as many as his.

"Baby, if I hurt you, I'll stop." _Christ_. Another first.

He entered her slowly, watching her. Inch by torturous inch, he made himself slow down, even when every instinct demanded he bury himself to the hilt. Her eyes widened, then closed, her teeth biting into her lip. _Inside. All of him._

"You okay?" It took all his self control to remain absolutely still, braced on his forearms. His body was ready to surge, his hips poised like a stallion before a race.

She nodded. "I feel… full." She laughed.

He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, hooking her leg around his waist. Immediately her face told him the pressure had eased.

"Better?"

She shook her head, her lips nuzzling his own. "Not really." Her voice dropped an octave and she whispered, "I need you to move. Fast."

The muscles in his ass flexed when he felt her move. It was all the encouragement he needed. Whatever thoughts he had of taking it slow, she dispelled. She surged to receive him and he drove home. She was tight, but she had adjusted to the intrusion and his size, his passage eased by her body's natural juices. _God, she was fucking wet._ She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck, panting in his ear, moaning as her climax built.

As he stroked inside her, he made sure he hit her clit. She cried out then and he almost smiled. _Almost_. Because his own release was building, tension spreading throughout his entire body. Their mouths messed, his tongue plundering her mouth in much the same way his dick was. He felt her tremors increase. Morena gasped, moaned and then climaxed spectacularly, her walls contracting and releasing around him. He pumped once, twice and with a groan followed her.

He couldn't remember ever coming that violently before.

_Jesus Christ. _He knew he was in trouble.


	12. I Just Want To Be The Best Man I Can Be

Morena lay in his arms quietly. He nuzzled her hair and dropped kisses on her forehead. She suspected he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

Her head was tucked under his chin and their legs were tangled, her smooth ones criss-crossed with hairy ones. The sheet was only pulled up to their waist, but she lay cradled to his side. She brushed the soft hairs on his chest, fingering the reaper than lay at the end of the thick silver chain around his neck. He lazily traced an unknown pattern on her lower back, every now and then the silver rings scraped across her skin. She had never felt so wanton. Or quite so wicked.

She had not had many lovers, less than a handful. But she had never had a sexual experience like she'd just had with Tig. _Ever_. Her body flushed with heat at the thought of the forceful climax that had consumed her. The nub between her legs tingled and she squirmed, her body reacting at the memory. She felt wonderfully _used_.

"You okay?" He spoke first, shifting slightly to look at her.

She smiled. "I'm wonderful." She had no idea how radiant she looked to him. "What _did _happen tonight? With your cuts and bruises."

He shrugged. "A little run in, that's all."

"Yes, I guessed that. But with who?" She touched the corner of his lip and fingered the band aids on his cheek lightly.

He just shook his head. He had so many secrets. Did he ever share them? _Would he_ever share them with anyone? _Would he share them with me?_

"Thank you for saving my life." She leaned up and kissed him half on the lips, half on the cheek.

He looked at her and she couldn't discern the meaning of the look. He adjusted and captured her mouth in a soft, lazy exploration. Without breaking the contact, she rolled onto his chest, her legs straddling him. From her vantage, she could rain kisses anywhere she wanted. Before long, she was sprawled atop him, her hands fisted in his hair as she pillaged his mouth. God, she loved his mouth. She moaned as his hands trailed down her back before they came to rest on her ass, his fingers massaging the firm mounds, gently grinding her against him.

She gasped and his mouth captured the sound. His tongue did wicked things. _Very_ wicked things. He nipped at her lips and then soothed with his tongue. She couldn't help herself. She mewed like a little kitten.

He'd just rolled her under him when the doorbell rang.

She broke the kiss. He cursed.

"Expecting someone?" He was panting a little.

She shook her head and then remembered. "It might be my take-out. A couple hours late. I'd forgotten about it."

She made a move to leave the bed but he shook his head, rolling off her. She watched him get out of bed, no bashfulness about his nudity. His body was beautiful; all hard angles and taunt planes, coppery skin and dark hair. He had tattoos on the sides of his shoulders, around his collarbone and one on the inside of his left arm. With only leather bracelets on his wrists and tousled hair, he looked unbelievably sexy. Her view was interrupted by the necessity of pants. He shrugged into his jeans and headed to the door.

Morena got up too and went to the bathroom, dragging her pajamas with her. After a quick refresh, she walked into the kitchen with her white bottoms and t-shirt.

"Your chinese. Idiot kid got lost trying to find your place. First day on the job. Meal was free."

His jeans weren't buttoned all the way and an intriguing arrow of hair disappeared out of sight.

She walked over and into his arms. "Eat with me?"

Something flashed in his eyes and she stiffened. He shook his head. "I can't. I gotta go."

He stepped away from her and went into the bedroom. She picked up his kutte, still lying where it had been discarded earlier, followed slowly and from the doorway and watched him dress. The knife was strapped on, the gun placed at his back.

Involuntarily, she shivered_. This is who he is_.

He shrugged into his shirt and turned to look at her. She held out the kutte and he stepped forward, shrugging into it.

She didn't know where to look. The happiness, the contentment had all but dissipated as the reality of sex with a virtual stranger hit home.

"I don't usually do this kind of thing. Sleep with someone I hardly know." She felt it important he know that.

"Jesus, Morena," he lifted her chin. "I know that."

_I'm losing him_. The irrational thought hit her and she felt like crying.

Outwardly, she nodded. "Good."

He looked unsure. "I have to go."

Again, she just nodded, knowing if she opened her mouth, she would bawl.

He kissed her forehead quickly before heading to the door and out. He didn't hesitate. He didn't look back.

She walked back into her room. Besides for the tousled sheets, there was no evidence he had even been there. She sat on the edge of the bed as a wave of sadness hit her. It was like she had dreamed the whole thing. It felt so surreal. But it hadnt been a dream. Her body was the evidence – the red scars on her neck where he has sucked on her skin, her nipples, still puckered even now, her feminine passage, deliciously bruised.

Her eyes threatened to fill, but she pushed it back. All she could hear was her mother's voice ringing in her ears. _You give them what they want without making them work for it, that's the last you'll see of them._

It had been the single most amazing night of her life. And she was here alone. He couldn't get away fast enough.

She lay back down, hugging a pillow. It smelled like him. Smoke and man. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply a few times. It was no use. Tears welled and fell quietly.


	13. Breathe

"Hey man."

Bobby walked into the garage and popped the hood of the Beetle standing next to the car Tig was working on. Juice had re-painted the awful daisy on the back. But the longer he looked at it, the more it reminded him of her and the less ridiculous he found the fucking flower. He was disgusted with himself.

Tig nodded in his direction and grunted a response.

"What's the fuck's eating at you? You're being emo."

"Christ, what?"

Bobby straightened to explain. "Prospect's reckon you're emo. Emotional. Unbalanced. Bothered."

"I get it."

Bobby continued. "Distracted. Sulky. Moody. A fucking pain in the god damn nuts. Just ask Juice."

"I get it. I get it!" He felt his temper rise. He slammed the oil filter he'd been fitting down. "God dammit!"

Bobby raised his brow but didn't say anything.

Tig pushed his hair out of his face. He needed a fucking shrink. Bobby would have to do. "What would you do if you had the world's best fucking sex? Like ever. I'm talking sex like you've never had it before. Pussy custom made just for your dick."

"Have more of it." Tig's expression said that wasn't the answer he was looking for. "It's a simple question," Bobby continued, "with a real simple answer. If the pussy's good, have more of the pussy."

"What if the pussy belongs to a real great lady? A woman who doesn't deserve to have her pussy raided by a sonofabitch?"

"I'd say the owner of the pussy needs to make her own decision." Bobby walked over to Tig and clapped him on the shoulder. "You've fucked whores Tigger, and you know your way around women. But you know shit about ladies. There's a huge fucking difference."

"Jesus." He knew Bobby was getting ready to preach.

"Rule number one. Whore pussy aint the same as lady pussy. Completely different ballgame. Whore pussy you fuck and move on. Lady pussy you fuck and woo."

"Christ." He was ashamed to admit he was intrigued.

"Rule number two. Lady pussy comes with strings and attachments. You don't want that, stay away from lady pussy and stick to the bloody whores."

"What's rule number three?" He couldn't help himself.

"Never disappear on lady pussy. Whores don't care. If you disappear on lady pussy, it's only cos you aint interested. Lady pussy is _sensitive _pussy."

"Jesus Christ." The words came together.

"Lady pussy is the makings of an Old Lady. Don't want one, don't fuck ladies."

"Too fucking late," Tig whispered, disgusted.

Bobby turned to walk away. "By the way, Morena's coming in to pick up the Beetle. Paperwork's in the office. See that she's happy…" he gave him a look, "with the job." One more clap on the back and Bobby moved across the lot.

"Fuck." He'd gone and fucked a lady, disappeared on the lady and now he had to face the lady. He'd broken all the rules. The irony was that it wasn't like he wanted to be rid of her. _Jesus_, _she just deserves better_.

Bobby was right. He had no place fucking lady pussy. The whores were his field of expertise. Better to end it with Morena than just create expectations of where this was going. It was one night. It was a mistake. _The best fucking mistake I've ever made._

By 5pm, the lot was all but abandoned. Morena hadn't arrived and Tig had changed out of his overalls. He didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved. He guessed disappointment won out in the end. Even if it couldn't work between them, he would have liked to see her.

Clay's hands had been acting up again so Gemma had taken him home. Jax and Opie went home to their kids and Old Ladies, the rest of the sons headed out to Caracara for party and pussy. _I should be with them_. Instead he had volunteered to close up shop.

He entered the clubhouse and went over to the bar, pouring himself a shot. Empty, the space had a different feel. Without the usual low hanging smoke, half naked croweater's and loud, raucous talking, laughing and brawling, the place almost lost its charm.

There was a knock at the door. Surprised, he saw Morena walk into the room. He had a feeling she was about to call out when she spotted him behind the bar.

Her hair was tied up in a ponytail. His hands itched to free it. He realised he hated her hair any way but down. She wore hospital scrubs, the kind Tara often wore. They were loose and baggy, making her look tiny in return. He wanted them off.

"I'm looking for Bobby. He called to say my car is ready. Phil let me in. Said to tell you the gates are closed."

She didn't offer any pleasantries. Tig couldn't help himself. He needed to touch her.

He started towards her, stalking, of single minded purpose. It took her a minute to realise his intent but it was too late.

"Tig-" she warned, her hands coming up to try and evade him. She took four steps back and was against the wall, the door to her left. Morena made a move towards it but it was useless. He'd reached her, grabbed her waist with one hand, cupped the back of her neck with the other, pulled her against him and proceeded to devour her mouth.

Tig felt her tense for a second before the staving hands wound their way around his neck and crushed him even closer. He pushed her against the wall and her legs parted, hooking around his hips, his hand on her neck moving to free her hair.

His hips pinned her, his hands roamed everywhere. Her skin, soft and smelling of citrus made him want to lick every inch of her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered between feverish kisses. She didn't answer, but the way she angled her head to receive his tongue told him he was temporarily forgiven.

He set her down for a minute and stripped off her panties and bottoms with one hand. His other found her clit and stroked, slipping his fingers inside. She was teeming, his fingers slick. She arched against his hand, reaching between them to free his dick. When she touched him, he bit into her shoulder. He was rock hard, hot and ready.

His trousers dropped, her legs wrapped around him, he plunged into her. He absorbed her scream with is mouth, mimicking the parry and retreat he was doing below with his tongue above.

With every wild thrust, she matched him, her hands touching everywhere she was able to, but always returning to his hair. Pulling, squeezing, stroking. He pumped furiously, the wet sounds of their bodies sliding together, slapping together driving them higher until they climaxed simultaneously. _Christ_. That had never happened to him before.

They stood that way for a while, breathing hard. His body was still connected to hers, her legs hooked at his hips, his hands cradling her ass, while hers wrapped around his shoulders.

He lifted his head and looked at her. She opened her eyes.

His gut flooded with unexpected emotion. He didn't have the words, so he kissed her softly and shuffled over to the couch. This was harder than it seemed, especially with his jeans at his ankles.

They dropped down and Morena laughed when he landed on top of her, his dick hardening inside of her.

"Hiya stranger," was all she said as she pushed her pelvis against his, gently stroking the hair from his eyes.

Tig stared at her, trying to find some hidden secret. Eventually he just said, "dammit darlin'. You're beautiful."

She reached for him, pressing her mouth to his. He swore he saw tears fill her eyes. "So are you."

He almost believed her.


	14. It's My Resolution

And so they began… something. Morena didn't question it. She didn't ask or make any demands of him. She realised that whatever they had was all that he was able to give. And if she wanted more, she would have to allow whatever it was between them to take root and grow. Strangely, she didn't want to change him. There was something vital and primal about him. If this didn't work, it would be because she didn't want a part of it.

She went on with work and school. They had their first argument when she wanted to continue cleaning his apartment. He didn't want her to. But she still needed the money and she wasn't interested in taking handouts from him.

"Jesus Morena, you're not my fucking maid!"

"I was before! You had no problem with it."

He growled out, "you weren't sleeping in my god damn bed then."

"Well, we can always stop that and then there won't be any problem!"

The threat put an end to it and they sealed the deal by making love on his kitchen counter.

At least now she didn't have to carry her textbooks back and forth or hide them from him. After cleaning up, she would sit and study in peace until he got home or she had to leave for a shift at the hospital.

Tig did whatever it was that he did. While he didn't talk openly about his activities, he dropped little hints here and there. He used _Club Business_ often though, but mostly didn't elaborate. She was curious and knew it was a conversation they were going to have to have. For the most part, they never saw each other during the day. He didn't call her to check in on her. She didn't text him to find out how his day was going or whether they would make plans. They never made plans.

But every night for the last month, he came to her. His apartment or hers, it didn't matter. Sometimes after 10pm, sometimes as late as 4am. In the beginning she would lie awake and wait for him. Or he would shower and she would wake up. Soon enough the beats and rhythms became defined. More often than not, she only woke when he pulled her into his arms, or when his hands roamed over her body.

They made love, often. And every time was different. Sometimes it was hot and hard, an urgency driving them both. Other times it was slow, nipping and tasting each other, savouring their coupling, prolonging their intimate connection. And sometimes they would just kiss for what felt like hours, simply laying side by side, their arms and legs entwined. But while she whispered of lovemaking, she wasn't sure if it was just about sex for him. She spoke of love. He still spoke of sex.

They didn't talk about his past relationships. And he never asked about hers. But she wondered about whether he had ever shared this kind of intimacy with anyone. She certainly hadn't. She was able to admit that it pained her to think that it might not be forever. She packed those kinds of thoughts away. They weren't productive and usually tended to affect her mood. She had him for now. It was all that mattered.

When he didn't come to her for the first time in four weeks, she as worried. He didn't call or leave a message and when she called him, the call went directly to voicemail. She didn't leave a message.

She slept fitfully that night, strangely used to having a heavy arm around her waist, a leg across hers, or waking up to his hand cupping her breast while he slept. Before going to work that morning, she dropped by his place. His bike was outside, so she knew he was home.

She knocked twice to no answer. So she used her key and let herself in.

"Tig?"

The space was dim, the shutters all drawn. She opened them, flooding the little lounge and some of the bedroom with light. He was sprawled naked and face down on the bed.

She put her bag and keys down and took off her shoes, wading softly over to his side of the bed. She sat down beside him. She was about to brush a hand through his hair when she spotted his discarded clothes on the floor.

Sighing, she let him sleep and thought to straighten the place a little. Picking up his jeans and shirt, she noticed they were damp. Looking at her hands, they came back red. Most of the blood had dried, but she knew what it was immediately.

Looking him over quickly, it was obvious he wasn't injured. So it wasn't his blood. _Whose was it then? _Horrified, the clothes fell from her hands and she stared at her fingers, sticky and crimson.

"Morena?"

She looked up startled. He had woken up and was looking at her, realisation of her find hitting him in stages.

"Where were you last night?"

He sat up and wiped his eyes, clearly not wanting to have this conversation. "Club business. I got in an hour ago. I didn't want to disturb you."

"You mean you didn't want to come home bloodied?" He shrugged. She realised she had used the word _home_. "Whose blood is it?"

He got up off the bed and shrugged into a pair of shorts lying next to the bed. "Drop it."

"Drop it?" her voice held a slightly hysterical edge. "My hands have blood on it and you expect me just to drop it?"

His patience seemed to be as thin as hers. "What do you think I do Morena? I belong to an outlaw motorcycle club. You've seen the guns. Did you think I spent my days driving fucking old ladies to bingo night?"

She swallowed and licked her lips. "We've never really talked about what you do. You won't tell me anything."

"Christ, it's for good reason. Let it go."

"And if I can't?" She struggled to ask the next question, not sure if she wanted to know the answer. "Did you kill someone last night?"

His silence screamed the answer.

"How many?" She hated herself for the tremor in her voice.

His eyes went cold, flat. She saw a little of what his enemies might see. She shivered.

All he said was, "I'm the sergeant at arms. It's what I do."

"And what do I do? Just wait? When you're not home you're off…" She stared back at her hands, whispering "I can't do this. I must have been crazy."

He just stood there, his jaw locked, the pulse at the base of his throat practically leaping like a frog. She knew the stance. It was the one he'd presented her with in all the months she'd worked for him. Cold. Closed off. Her chest hurt.

"Who was it?"

He just shook his head.

She walked right up to him and pushed at his shoulders. He didn't even budge. "Who was it?"

Her fist hit his shoulder. "Tell me!" Another punch. "Tell me dammit!"

She had started crying and hadn't even realised.

When his arms came around her, she fought him but he wouldn't let go.

"Shhh… it's okay."

She shook her head, wanting to say it wasn't okay, but the words stuck in her throat. And then she clung to him. He held her like that, stroking her hair until she calmed. Sitting her down on the edge of the bed, he came back with a warm soapy cloth and wiped her hands clean, all traces of the blood gone.

She didn't know what to think. It was like her brain was racing miles ahead and she kept having to remember to stay in the present.

She looked at him. His expression was blank, the only sign he felt something was the fact that he couldn't meet her eyes. _He's ashamed_.

"I need you to tell me the truth." He started to protest. "I know we don't know each other very long. And perhaps my request is premature. But I need you to be honest with me. Or whatever this is between us is never going to work." _Or be more than just sex_.

"You don't want to know this shit."

"I have to."

He sighed heavily and sat down next to her. She was sure he deliberately ensured they didn't touch.

"I grew up with this shit…" he began. He looked straight ahead, sometimes looking at her. But he didn't really see her. She guessed he didn't want to see her reaction. His voice was flat, almost matter of fact.

"…so Opie was suspected of snitching on the club. Things were fucked up and there was no time to take a club vote. Clay and I decided what needed to be done."

For the first time, he paused and swallowed.

"Opie needed to be plugged before the club was compromised." She forced herself to remain calm when all she wanted to do was tell him to stop. She didn't want to know. But she couldn't say the words.

"I volunteered to do it."

Her palms broke out in a cold sweat.


	15. Living Life Without A Plan

He had to brace himself. He had never told anyone about what happened. He didn't even know why he was telling her her. He could have denied her the truth. But he was tired of holding back. Most people feared him, didn't like him, some hated him. Hate was just another emotion.

But the thought of her being one of them ripped at him. It was however, the story of his life. Live your life on the fringe, never allow them close enough to mean anything. He's made too many mistakes already. He knew she wouldn't stay long anyway. He wasn't capable of sustaining a relationship and she would realise he was damaged goods. He couldn't outrun his past. _She's always been too good._

He'd managed to tell the story. Clinically. He didn't bank on it being harder when it came to Donna. He spent a lot of time just battling with himself, keeping his raging emotions in check. She never interrupted and he was relieved. He didn't think he could have handled it.

_She's going to hate you after this_. Like most things in his life, it was inevitable. The mistrust. The stares. The hated.

"We set up the hit and I was the one who aimed. But I couldn't go through with it. He was my brother. My finger just wouldn't co-operate."

He didn't look at her.

"A couple days later the ATF agent was putting more pressure on the club. Everything was going to shit. We had checked his car, his cellphone, everything was bugged. Everything pointed to snitch. Clay and I… we set another date and I followed Opie home. When he stopped at a red light I couldn't pull up next to him. I knew if I saw him, I I'd fucking chicken out again."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her hands go to her mouth. _Horror_. He steeled himself.

"I fired."

The merest whisper. "Oh my God."

He felt his heart pick up speed. "But it wasn't Opie in the truck."

"Tig-"

"It was his wife, Donna."

This time he looked right at her. She had tear streaks down her cheeks; her right hand covered her mouth in horror.

"I hadnt killed Opie. I killed Donna."

And then he couldn't speak anymore because of the lump in his throat. He swallowed, once, twice, but it wouldn't go away. An ache developed around his eyes and the corners of his mouth as he attempted to control his emotions. He felt powerless again, the way he did right after the incident.

His body began to shake and he fisted his hands, trying to control an avalanche that had already begun to snowball.

_I can't do this anymore_. He couldn't carry this guilt. Gemma was right. It was eating him alive.


	16. Finding Solace Where I Stand

Every cell in her body screamed in rebellion.

_I killed Donna_ ricocheted off the walls of her brain until she wanted to put her hands to her ears to shut out the sound. It was a tragedy. And this was the life he lived. _This reality was what he lived with._

This life was different to anything she had ever been exposed to. There was obviously violence and death. Along with that always came sorrow and regret. And yet here he was. Still standing but barely fighting. It was as if she saw him for the first time.

She didn't think she would ever forget the look on his face in that moment. He wasn't the tough biker. He wasn't the cold killer. He was a man who was being eaten alive by the guilt of a misguided mistake. He had obviously taken many lives before. The justification for those deaths was what allowed him to sleep at night. But Donna's death didn't have any justification. He had murdered an innocent woman. _How did he live with himself?_ The simple answer was: _he didn't_. His coping mechanisms were failing him.

Her eyes filled with tears. _He was deeply ashamed_.

She saw his pain. She saw the devastation. And her heart broke. She reached out and touched his shoulder. He was so tense, his body as taunt as a string.

"Tig."

He didn't respond. His face was turned away from her and his lips were pressed together, holding himself in check. _He needs to grieve_.

"Look at me." She turned his face towards her. "Alex, baby, look at me." His eyes were the palest blue, almost white. She turned towards him and cradled his face. "You have to forgive yourself."

He just shook his head. No.

She tried again. "It was a tragedy. But you need to try and make it right. You have to let go."

His shoulders started to shake and a sob escaped his throat.

Her tears started to fall too. She kissed his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks and his lips. "You have to let go, baby. Let go."

His arms went around her, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe.

"I'm right here."

She didn't know how they got that way, but she lay on the bed, cradling him in her arms. The salt of his tears were moist against her neck. They didn't speak. They just held one another.

The pain and grief radiated off him in waves. Morena combed her hands through his hair and kissed his temples. Slowly, he kissed her back.

"Make love with me," he whispered against her lips. She didn't miss his choice of words.

Their lips met and she tasted his sorrow mixed with the salt of his tears. Her heart ached for him, her first instinct to make the pain go away. While she knew she couldn't do that, she could and _would_ comfort him.

Eager hands pushed at clothing until they were both naked. He sat up against the headboard while she straddled his lap. When he would have moved them horizontally across the bed and rolled her under him, she shook her head and pushed at his shoulders. This was about him. She wanted to please him. She kissed him, their mouths hot and wet. And then she trailed similar kisses down his body – the corded muscles of his neck and chest – her hair kissing where her lips left off. Her tongue swirled around his nipples, excited when she heard his low moan. His hands were fisted in her hair, urging her on. She glanced up and looked at him. His eyes were pinced closed, his chest heaving, his head rested against the headboard. She knew then that she loved him absolutely. It should not have been an easy choice. Yet somehow, it was.

Her hands moved down and took his dick in her hands. The shaft was thick, hot and hard. When she touched him, his head thrashed as his hips involuntarily jerked upwards.

"Baby, I don't know if I will last-"

"Shh," she whispered against his lips. His arms came around her and their tongues stroked, lips sucking hungrily. Her hands fisted in his dark hair, momentarily forgetting her purpose. Hands reached for her and Morena straddled his lap once more. Without much ceremony, he guided himself to her entrance and thrust upwards. She gasped and he grunted.

Morena cupped his face, forcing his eyes on hers. His blue eyes were glazed, shadowed, hurt. She kissed him softly, her eyes never leaving his as their hips moved together.

"Let it go, Alex," she whispered as he plunged into her, her own pleasure threatening to leave her mindless when her nipples brushed against his roughened chest. She saw his jaw tighten at her use of his name. She wrapped her arms around him and felt him do the same. In the stillness, he thrust and she received, riding him hard, urging him to exorcise his demons for good.

"Alex." Her teeth bit down on his earlobe as her climax hit. "Let go."

He roared then, his seed pouring into her as her walls contracted around him. He'd let go.


	17. Learning How To Love Again

"Are you sure about this?"

"It's just dinner. It's not a big deal."

He lay on the bed while she buttoned up her shirt. He knew what she wasn't verbalising and that what she was thinking was along the lines of: _Maybe not for you it isn't, but it feels like I'm being taken to meet your family_. And in a way, it was true.

Morena was not like any other woman he had met, fucked or committed to. He still wasn't sure about what their relationship meant and where it was going. But he did know he wanted her with him for as long as she wanted to be. But if he wanted that, he couldn't hide her from SAMCRO. It was time he took her to meet his family.

Last week he had told her about the thing he was most ashamed of. And she had showered him with compassion. He didn't think she fully understood his life yet, but he took it as a sign that she was willing to try.

He took Bobby's advice and realised that lady pussy needed to be treated better. If he was in the area, he stopped by the hospital to check in on her. If she was at his place cleaning, he would swing by. Usually, irrespective of the location, they would end up naked.

Today he invited her out for the first time. Gemma hosted a monthly dinner for all the sons. Tig had asked her to go with him. He could tell she was equal parts surprised and delighted.

"Jesus, look at the time. Gemma will kill me if we're late." She raised a brow. "You don't know Gemma," he said in his own defence. "And, we're taking my bike."

Up until that point she had managed to ignore the machine. She groaned but followed him out the door.

Tig's bike was his pride and joy. All black and chrome with reaper detail, the machine was the fastest in the lot. He handed Morena a helmet and helped her tie the clip under her chin. He got on and settled her behind him.

"Get me there and back again in one piece and you'll get lucky tonight." He felt her place a kiss in the middle of his back before she wound her arms around his waist – really tightly.

He chuckled. "Sweetheart, you're going to have to pay up."

"Like I said, with pleasure. Just get me there alive. Tig, we could just take Daisy."

He rolled his eyes, followed by an indignant snort. "I can't be caught dead in that piece of-"

"Watch yourself, Trager," she cautioned.

He pulled away from the curb, his ribcage vibrating as he chuckled. After a while he noticed her arms didn't grip as tightly and her head wasn't tucked into his back like her life depended on it.

By the time they reached Clay and Gemma's house he was sure she'd almost enjoyed it.

He switched off the bike. "And?"

"That was... kind of exciting."

"A biker in the making."

She laughed. "I wouldn't go that far. But I wouldn't mind a couple rides with you."

He kissed her quick and hard. He had no idea he would be this anxious about bringing her. She was the first woman he'd brought to a SAMCRO dinner. Another first. The list just grew.

Inside, almost everyone was there. Tig noticed a lot of stares, raised brows and the inevitable jabs in the ribs. _Christ, they weren't going to let this go._ If the fucking roles were reversed, he wouldn't either. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

"Rena, sugar. Come and give me a hug." She left his side and he watched her be all but engulfed in large arms.

"Watch out Tigger, Bobby might just make a move on your Old Lady."

It was the first time _Old Lady_ was mentioned. He looked over at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She was talking to Bobby, so he wasn't sure if she'd even heard. His chest tightened. He couldn't believe he wanted it.

"Don't think I couldn't get her to love me," Bobby joked. Morena laughed and placed a smacking kiss to his cheek.

"Hey baby." Gemma touched his shoulder. "I see you finally took your head out of your ass."

"Yeah. I hear our boy Juice helped him out with that. Old Tiggy saw the light after a grand round of fisticuffs." Chibs raised his beer and laughed.

"You fought with Juice?" Morena was beside him and he slipped a hand in the back pocket of her jeans.

Tig groaned and the guys laughed.

"In a spot of trouble." Kozik piped up.

"It ended with an understanding," he whispered in her ear. To the guys he said, "Fuck off!"

She rolled her eyes but Tara and Jax arrived with their boys and she left to talk to her.

As the evening progressed, he relaxed. Morena was easy to talk to and got on well with everyone. Their raucous behaviour and sometimes crude humour she took in her stride and didn't seem uncomfortable or out of place. Gemma might be a problem. She kept eyeing him, her brow raised. But he didn't need her approval and fuck if he didn't care.

At the dinner table, she sat close to him, her hand on his knee, his arm across the back of her chair, unconsciously twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. She seemed to make a special effort to talk to Opie and Lyla. Her efforts touched him in unimaginable ways.

At some point in the evening she was across the room, Thomas on her lap, talking to Tara who cradled a sleeping Abel.

"You going the same route?" Dark, solemn eyes.

"I'm not looking to have kids, Opie."

"But you are looking at taking an Old Lady."

"Christ no." His chest squeezed. They both knew it was a lie. "Maybe."

"You know you tell them everything or you tell them nothing." It was a statement.

"Ope..."

In his quiet, sombre but commanding way, Opie said, "Make the changes and live your life, Tig. Proper. Donna aint coming back. Maybe if I was honest with her, things might've been different. A part of the problem was what you did. But we both know it's bigger than just you and me or Clay. It's about the club."

Opie looked at Morena pointedly and then moved away.

"Opie," the other man turned around enquiringly. "Thank you, brother."

No smile. But a nod. It was something. Tig just stood there. He felt lighter.

An arm came around his waist. "You okay? I saw you talking to Opie."

He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "Fine. Ready to go home?" His pulse pounded just a little faster. He knew what he had just said. _Home_.

She stared at him for a heartbeat before reaching up and kissing him very softly.

"If I remember correctly, I think I made a promise about you getting lucky..."


	18. All I Want Is Something Real

"You don't think it's strange? Alex and I?"

Tara and Morena were having their conversation over lunch at the hospital.

Tara rolled her eyes with a smile. "_Strange_? I'm engaged to the Vice President of the club. I'm the last person who'll find it strange. Although... Jesus Christ Moreana... _Tig_..?"

Morena laughed at her puzzled expression. "Why him?"

Tara looked sheepish. "Sorry. I get the strangely exciting part. To be honest, he's always been a loner. Never says much. Loyal to a fault." Tara grimaced. "Until Donna."

"I've asked myself the same question. I mean, look at him... he's certainly not what my mother would have picked out for me." She thought for a minute. "But he's... surprisingly sensitive beneath all that brawn. He just kind of charged into my life without any kind of warning."

"Sounds like Tig." Tara took a bite of her sandwich. "And you're attracted to that?"

"A part of me, maybe. I don't know. The club's dangerous and violent. And then the other night I saw family and friendship. He's a person Tara. He wears all his scars like armour... Maybe I find the mixture..."

"You're forgiving of his flaws." Tara made the statement and Morena knew she was alluding to Donna again.

"I guess I am." She took a sip of her coffee.

"Just be careful. This life just gets more complicated, not less. I've had to make my peace with that."

"I've asked myself whether I'm crazy - especially when he doesn't let me in to what he's thinking. Damn but that's frustrating. He can be callous and tactless. But he can also be kind and sensitive and generous with his affection. And I think he is trying with us. I don't think I would still be here if I didn't feel his effort. There is goodness in him, Tara, mixed up with the really messed up depraved, dark stuff. I just don't think he knows it. Especially after what happened with Donna."

"Why didn't we fall in love with the simple ones?" Tara sighed. "The ones who are uncomplicated, with no hang ups, no shady pasts?"

"The account? Or the lawyer?"

Tara and Morena both crinkled their noses. "Boring," they said together.

Morena sobered. "How did you come to grips with it? The violence? The illegal activities? The _porn_? Tig didn't want to tell me about Caracara. Chibs let it slip." She rolled her eyes. "I think it was some inside joke, to see how I would react."

"Don't get me started on the porn." Tara scowled. "It's a little different for me. I grew up in Charming, in this life with Jax. I was so young then and when I met him, it was love. Crazy and all consuming. But at some point, I realised I wanted more for myself, and made the hardest decision ever. I left."

"But then you came back."

"My life is here. I imagined my destiny was somewhere else but it's always been with Jax. So wherever he is, that's where I am..." She seemed lost in her thoughts for a moment before continuing. "The violence isn't easy to deal with. And the past year has been… exceptionally challenging. But it isn't always like this. And I have faith that things will change. It's a promise he's made to me for our family. And I believe him."

"Does he tell you everything?"

"I asked that he did. And he tells me the important stuff. But not the details. That works for me. I don't think I _want_ to know the details to be honest."

Morena took a deep breath. "I know I love him." She looked at Tara and smiled sadly. "I think I did the minute he stared me down and growled at me. I want to be with him and I think he cares about me. But I don't know where this is headed. I'm almost afraid to ask. If I'm just a passing distraction, you'd think I'd want to know right?" She laughed, but it sounded hollow. "That's not really the case. Because the longer I _don't_ know anything, the more _time_ I get to spend with him. Your classic catch 22."

"You love him." Tara touched Morena's hand. "Now you have to trust him. And if you trust, the rest is a lot easier."

"It helps having someone to bounce this stuff off of."

"I had Gemma." Tara scowled and Morena laughed. "But if you need anything..."

A clerk interrupted their conversation.

"Dr. Knowles, a Mr. Teller just called. He's trying to reach you on your mobile."

"Oh." Tara took the phone out of her pocket. "It's dead. Thanks. I'll give him a call."

"I'll walk you to admissions. I have some files to collect."

Morena watched Tara dial out and collected her folders; glad she had had the opportunity to talk to the other woman. What was it with these complicated Sons? It was like they were recruited based on the amount of issues they carried around.

Could she live this life? Could she be an Old Lady to the Sergeant at arms and be happy? _Did he want her for anything more than sex?_

She was about to leave when Tara touched her shoulder.

"Can you get away?"

Morena frowned. "From the hospital? I'm on duty for another couple hours. Why?"

Tara pulled her over to the side. "That was Jax. He didn't have your number so he called me."

"Why would Jax be looking for me?"

Tara squeezed her arm. "Tig's been shot."


	19. I Can Feel

"Fuck-" Tig prayed for calm. "Jesus, that hurts."

Jax shut his mobile. "I called Tara. She's on her way. Your woman's with her."

_My woman._ Tig scowled. "I told you not to call her."

"Your mouth, yes." Gemma patted his arm. "But that wasn't what your eyes were saying, baby."

His scowl deepened but he didn't argue. He was disgusted with himself. Since when did he need a woman to fawn over him? _Since you met the right one._

The fact that he'd been shot stung too. Fucking prospects had been cleaning the artillery and he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shot to his damned left shoulder.

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Calm down Tigger, I don't think that'll be necessary," Gemma soothed. "Maybe a shot clean through the leg will teach him to be more careful."

"Clean through his balls. He's fucking dead."

Morena came rushing in, Tara following closely behind. She searched frantically until she saw him on one of the bar stools.

"What happened?" She started touching, probing and examining him.

Tig snorted.

"Overeager prospects." Jax couldn't stop his broad, devilish grin. "It was an accident."

"I'm killing him," Tig maintained.

She glared at him. "You're not killing anyone." The wound wasn't fatal. "Come on, up! I need to get the bullet out."

"Use Jax's old room. There's a bathroom nearby." Tara led the way.

Alone, Tig sat on the edge of Jax's old bed and looked at her. She hadn't said anything since they'd been left alone, stoically going about her business of tending to his shoulder. And she wasn't being very gentle this time.

"Ouch! Jesus, some tenderness."

She just glowered at him.

"Morena, come on, darlin'," he coaxed. "Just a little accident, is all." He couldn't believe he'd said that. Phil was dead.

"You seem to be in a hell of a lot of accidents. And I seem to be the cleanup crew."

"Shit happens. Ouch! Christ woman."

"Sorry." The bullet was out and she cleaned and closed the wound. "You'll live."

"Thanks." Tig eyed her warily. She was packing up her supplies and looked to be contemplating something heavy. Then she faced him and planted her hands on her hips.

He eyed her cautiously.

"I'm in love with you," she blurted out.

_Speechless_. It was the very last thing he'd expected her to say. His eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open before he realised it and snapped it shut. It didn't ease the dryness in his throat. He realised she was speaking and he'd not heard anything beyond her declaration.

"And all this club stuff makes me uneasy, but the thought of _not_ being with you makes me even more uneasy. So I'm putting this out there and you can do with it what you want."

He didn't have words. But the warmest feeling spread from his heart and radiated everywhere.

"But I do have conditions."

He couldn't hold the grin back and so the corners of his eyes wrinkled. "You have fucking conditions attached to being with me?"

She ticked them off on her fingers. "No whores. No porn. I know you have... things to do out at Caracara but hands off the whores. No secrets."

"You know, Old Ladies usually make these kinds of demands."

She just continued. "You come home to me at night. If you can't, you let me know. You try not to get yourself into danger, although I already know that's not going to help."

"Morena."

"I quit as your maid. For real this time. But I'm hoping you might have a vacancy for an Old Lady." Despite her bravado, he could see her smile was vulnerable.

He just gestured to his lap and she raised her eyebrow.

"Fucked." He signalled to his arm. "Come here baby. Please." He added the latter when her brow had hooked higher.

She gingerly sat on his lap, trying not to jar his shoulder.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. This wasn't what he did. He didn't get deep with women. He didn't explain himself or his motives. But he wanted to with her.

"I'm damaged goods, sweetheart." He saw her eyes flash. "It's true. I am. I'm fucked up in ways you can't even imagine. Christ knows, I don't believe I deserve you." He placed a silencing finger against her lips. "I don't," he said firmly. "But somehow you make me want to be less of a fucking bastard."

Morena touched his face. "You're not hopeless, Alex."

She'd called him by his given name. Jesus, the look on her face. She made him want to believe.

"I think you're about the only person who believes that. I don't know what I can promise, Morena. Besides for this club, I haven't been loyal to anyone."

"Then make me one promise only." She kissed his cheek. His nose. "Never lie." His lips. "That's all."

He grinned. "What about the list?" His hand roamed under her blue scrub top.

She wound her arms around his neck and bit his ear playfully. "I'm working up to that."

He didn't know how he had gotten this lucky. He'd whored, killed and done all manner of horrible. But someone had decided it was fitting for her to be meant for him. _Don't fuck it up._

Despite the discomfort, he wound his arms around her and fell backwards on the bed. Morena straddled him and he thread his fingers through her hair, pulling her lips back to his. She lay down on top of him, keeping her weight off the injured side of his body.

"Let's have sex," she whispered to him.

Tig pushed the hair out of her face. "Nah sweetheart, you got it wrong."

"Do I now?" She was beautiful to him. "I love you, Trager."

His chest constricted. "It's make love."

She kissed his chin. "Love ha?"

His throat tightened and he nodded. "Love."


	20. Breathe It's My Resolution

**(Epilogue)**

**One Year Later**

They lay in bed and he was tracing an unknown pattern on her lower back. Morena lay on her tummy, her head resting on his shoulder.

It was around 7.30 in the morning and she had some time before having to get ready for her shift. After making love with him, lying close and quiet, just touching was her favourite time.

"How do you feel about tattoos?"

"Tattoos? Why? You thinking of getting another one?" She turned and curled into his side.

"I want you to get one."

"Me?" She looked up from her position on his chest, intrigued. "Where?"

His hand spanned her entire lower back. "Here."

"You want to brand me don't you?" Her eyes narrowed.

He just grinned, confident and sexy. He rolled onto her, between her thighs. Now _that_ was his favourite place to be.

Morena's hands went to his hair. "Let's both get one."

He raised a brow. "Christ, always with the fucking negotiation."

"If you're telling the world I'm yours and I'm telling all those tramps at Caracara you're mine."

Their lips met, tongues duelled until breathing became a serious hardship.

"Wait. Where?" he pulled away, frowning.

She smiled and ran her hands down his back, coming to rest on his left ass cheek.

"Mine."

"Jesus Christ."

**Two Years Later**

"Morena, you're sure about this?" Tig stood in the bathroom, both arms resting against the sink, a towel riding low on his hips.

"Alex." She always meant business when she used his given name. "I've been going on about this for two years. I'm damned sure." She came up behind him, also in a towel, and wrapped her arms around him from behind, stepping on tip toe and placing a kiss between his shoulder blades. They'd just shared a shower.

"Jesus Christ."

She laughed. "It's going to be wonderful. _You're_ going to be wonderful." She forced him to turn and look at her. His hair was wet, curling and much longer than it should be. She loved it that way.

Sweat broke out on his brow. "You know I must fucking love you to even agree to this right?" He wasn't sure if it was the steam in the bathroom that caused the sweating. He chose to blame it on that. The other option made him a pussy.

She kissed him soundly. "I know."

"I've also fucking tried this and I wasn't any damned good at it."

She just shrugged. "Debatable, but noted."

Resigned and terrified but oddly excited, he sighed loudly, lowering his head between her neck and shoulder. "Let's make a baby."

A few months later, history repeated itself. Tig and Morena sat around the table at Gemma's usual dinner.

"You're shitting with me?" Gemma laughed.

"They're not kidding." Clay said drolly from the head of the table. "Tigger's done it again."

Tig rolled his eyes in annoyance at the teasing. "I need a fucking cigarette."

"No more ciggie's, Tiggy my boy." Chibs came around and slapping him on the shoulder.

"Christ. Tequilla then."

Tara clapped. "It's wonderful news! Abel and Thomas will be so excited. Congratulations!"

Morena turned towards Tig and rubbed his shoulder, her other hand running in soothing circles on his thigh. She stared at him sympathetically. He really was close to hyperventilating.

He took her hand in his and gripped it tightly. "It's twins."

**Three Years Later**

"So, we did it." Tig set Morena down in the middle of their bedroom.

"Yes, we did." She removed her veil, her gown a pale lemon in colour, close fitting, simple and elegant. She turned into her husband's arms. "You know, it strikes me that you _have_ to know that you scored big time when you took a maid right?"

She kissed his lips softly. He pulled her close, working the buttons at the back of her gown with purpose.

"Three and a half years, a house, two kids, a fucking dog I hate and a wife I love. Christ yes, I scored."

Tig didn't kid himself into believing that his current state of happiness had anything to do with him. It was all about her. Their family was literally the light of his life. He never believed he would have one that belonged solely to him.

"Well, so did I."

Morena's wedding gown fell to the floor.

**Author's Notes:**

Reached the end of this story and although rather condenced, it's the most fun I've had writing in a while. I'm so very in love with the character of Tig Trager. He's fundamentally crazy on some level (quite literally I'm sure) but even with that, he is a man and human and he must have feelings. So on some level, I believe there's a sensitive inside of Tigger. And if there isn't, I'm determined to create it. LOL.

The chapter titles are from the song _"Resolution" by Nick Lachey_.


End file.
